What the Heart Wants
by bingblot
Summary: "Are you in love with Detective Beckett?" He wasn't. He couldn't be. Could he? A fix-it fic for the summer after S2.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: As always, all things "Castle" belong to Andrew Marlowe and ABC & Co.

Author's Note: My attempt at trying to fix the summer after S2. I know this is well-travelled terrain in fics but hopefully, this still manages to be different enough to be interesting.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 1_

Castle emerged from a writing haze and shifted, realizing how stiff he'd become after… oh, he'd been writing for more than four hours now. No wonder he was stiff. And hungry, come to think of it. It was almost 5 p.m. now and _Naked Heat_ was coming along nicely. He was getting to the point in the plot where he could stop doling out clues and red herrings and start tying things together. Another chapter or two should be enough to get him to the climax when everything fell into place for Nikki.

He stretched, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles in his back, and then emerged from his office, wondering if Gina was still outside, taking in the sun.

He found himself yawning as he walked. He had woken up ridiculously early that morning, considering he was technically on vacation, and he wasn't sure what it said about him that even on a holiday weekend, he automatically woke up early and then chose to actually get out of his comfortable bed rather than lingering in it.

And he refused to think, even to himself, that his willingness to get out of bed had anything to do with the woman sleeping next to him. It wasn't true. What man in his right mind wanted to leave his own bed and the naked woman whom he'd invited to stay with him if he didn't need to? It was crazy so it simply couldn't be true. That was all.

He wasn't going to think about the fact that when he opened his eyes in the morning (the last couple mornings), he'd felt a jolt of something like surprise, something he refused to label as disappointment, because the woman he was sleeping next to was not the woman he'd been dreaming about—not that his dreams had involved anything intimate. It didn't mean anything.

It was simply that he enjoyed the couple hours of quiet in the mornings, sitting outside on the lawn overlooking the bay with a cup of coffee and a book. The sight and sound of the water, the crisp quality of the air out here, had been refreshing and he'd felt the serenity he usually felt out here settle in. Well, mostly. He hadn't quite managed to fully recapture the peace he usually felt here, some lingering sense of something like discontent nagging at him.

Of course, it could just be the absence of Alexis. Yes, that was it. He hadn't been out to the Hamptons without Alexis in years, actually not ever, he realized. There had been a couple times that his mother and Alexis had come out to the Hamptons without him, coming out here a few days before him or lingering a few days after, but this was the first time that he had been here without Alexis.

He grimaced a little. It had just been a few days since he'd dropped Alexis off at Princeton; it was ridiculous to be missing her so much already.

This morning, he and Gina had shared a pleasant brunch and then Gina had said that she planned to spend the afternoon getting some sun, maybe swim a little, while he was busy writing. He had taken the not-so-subtle hint and retreated into his office shortly after and while he had procrastinated for a while, eventually an idea had crawled into his brain and he had actually started to write.

And now, more than four hours and three full chapters later, he thought he'd gotten enough done that Gina would let him out.

What was he thinking? He was a grown man. He didn't need anyone's permission to decide when he was done with work for the day.

He emerged into the kitchen to find Gina just coming in from outside, wearing a light sundress and looking flushed from the sun and it occurred to him, not for the first time, that when Gina was relaxed and smiling, she really was a gorgeous woman.

She smiled when she saw him and he returned the smile. See, they could be good together. Again.

"Hey, have a good afternoon?" he greeted easily.

"Lovely. You taking a break for now?"

He kept the smile on his face as he poured himself a glass of iced tea. "Actually, I think I'm done for the day. I've gotten a good few chapters done and I want to clear my head for a while before I go back into it." His stomach chose that moment to make itself heard and he gave a little laugh. "Plus I'm hungry so I was thinking we could have an early dinner, eat it outside?"

The corners of her lips tightened a little for a fleeting second before she dispelled it by giving him a quick smile. "All right," Gina agreed. "What were you thinking of eating?"

He felt a little bit of tension loosening as he realized that she had, at least, decided to forgo arguing with him about being done for the day. But he couldn't help but wonder how long the reprieve would last. Before, when they'd been married, she wouldn't have given way but maybe this was a sign that she had changed. Maybe they really could find common ground again, enough to forge their relationship anew.

"Pasta with chicken?" he suggested. "That's easy enough. And can you put together a salad?"

"That's fine."

That settled, he and Gina went to their separate tasks, finding it somewhat awkward to work around each other until Gina finally moved all the salad fixings over to the other side of the counter, thereby getting out of his way. It occurred to him, with some surprise, that he could probably count on his two hands the number of times he and Gina had actually prepared a meal together even when they'd been married. Gina wasn't much for cooking—she could cook, at least the basics, but she didn't really like to so she rarely did so—and with the hours she worked, when they'd been married, she had usually returned to the loft only in time to join him and Alexis for dinner.

The preparations didn't take long and he allowed Gina to pick a wine and get the table ready outside while he finished preparing their dinner and plated it up. When he emerged bearing the two plates, he saw that she had even found a candle and brought it out. It wasn't dark yet, of course, but the candle still added a nice touch, made the dinner seem more intimate, romantic.

She was trying. He softened a little further towards her. They had been good together once and on the phone the other day, it seemed like they'd reconnected, found that the initial spark still existed or had been rekindled.

They chatted lightly as they started to eat, Gina commenting on her day and how nice it was to be outside, enjoying the sun, and he felt himself relaxing further under the influence of the fresh air, the pleasant conversation with a woman he did care about. For all their differences, he and Gina still shared a lot of interests and Gina was intelligent and witty, in her own way.

He was smiling and content. It was a measure of how relaxed he'd become that when Gina asked how his writing was going, he answered easily. "Today was productive. I made some good progress on the book, think I'm getting close to the beginning of the end."

"Good to hear. You haven't told me much about the plot except that it's about the murder of a gossip columnist?"

Her tone was light and he sat forward in his chair. After all, Gina had been his editor, was still his publisher, and aside from that, she was clever and when she wasn't trying to pressure him, she often had helpful suggestions that made his books better. So he gave her a potted summary of the plot, going into somewhat more detail than he normally would, talking about the red herrings he was throwing in. She approved the one about the body snatching and the potential involvement of the disgraced politician and that encouraged him to expound further and before he fully realized it, he was talking about how those particular red herrings had been inspired by the cases he'd worked on with Beckett in the last year.

He forgot himself—and his company. In afterthought, he knew that and if he had thought about it, he wouldn't have. He liked to think he wasn't quite that tactless. But, well, he got excited and in the end, he wasn't sure it would have changed anything.

He emerged from his haze when he had to pause to take a drink, belatedly realizing that he had been talking almost nonstop for a while.

And whatever ease and good humor had existed between them before, it was clearly gone now. Gina was picking at her plate, her lips pressed together in an expression he knew and recognized. Oh crap. His heart dropped. What was the matter now?

Okay, so he'd been talking too much, he admitted that. He forced an awkward, self-deprecating chuckle. "Sorry. I guess I've been going on and on. I got excited, you know how I am."

She did know that; she knew him. And she was the one who had asked.

"Yeah, excited," she clipped out, finally looking up at him. "I know how you are and I'd be fine if you were excited about Nikki Heat."

He blinked. Uh, what? He was excited about Nikki Heat, wasn't that the entire subject of their conversation? "I am excited about Nikki Heat."

She snorted. "Oh, is that what you're excited about?" she retorted with biting sarcasm.

He stiffened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Gina put her fork down with a precision that boded ill for him—not that anything right now boded well—before she looked at him. "Why did you ask me out here, Rick?" Her voice made the 'k' sound seem even harder than it usually was and in some corner of his mind, he noted Gina's quirk that when she was pleased with him, she called him Richard and when she was irritated, she switched to Rick, as if she liked that the harder 'k' sound echoed her own mood.

"The other day on the phone, we had a good talk and it seemed like there was still something there between us," he answered after a moment. "So I wanted to explore it."

She twisted her lips into an expression of annoyance and skepticism. "So you say."

He felt a spurt of anger. Now she was basically calling him a liar? "What do you mean by that?"

She met his eyes directly, not backing down. Not that she ever did. "Are you in love with Detective Beckett?"

Shit. He felt his heart drop into his feet. He wasn't. He _wasn't_. He couldn't be.

Could he?

It wasn't as if he hadn't already had Beckett's face in his mind, her image practically haunting him. Writing about Nikki Heat guaranteed that Beckett would be at the forefront of his thoughts but hearing her name brought the image of her into the spotlight, a kaleidoscope of memories flooding his mind in an instant. He could picture her smile, see her roll her eyes or bite her lip, see that look of focused intensity when she was in the interrogation room. See her drinking her coffee.

See her leaning in to kiss Demming right there in the precinct. His stomach twisted sharply at the memory.

Shit.

"Then why would I be here with you?" he shot back, deflecting, going on offense by avoiding answering. Because he could not answer. The only acceptable answer was 'no,' but he couldn't say that because he didn't know for sure and suspected that denying it would actually be a lie. (Oh shit.)

Anyway, it was the sort of question that had no right answer. If he said 'no,' he knew Gina wouldn't believe him and would just think he was lying.

Gina's expression contorted, something like self-recrimination flashing across her face before it was gone and her anger at him had won out. "That's what I told myself. I know you've always swooned over Detective Beckett but when we got to talking the other night and then you asked me out here, I thought you must have gotten over it, realized it was just a stupid crush that wasn't real."

He tried not to flinch, tried harder not to flare up in response to this belittling assessment of his feelings. Whatever his feelings were.

"But then, listening to you talk… do you know how many times you've said Detective Beckett's name over dinner?"

That, at least, he could try to defend himself against. Not that he actually knew how many times he'd mentioned Beckett. "I was talking about work and Beckett and I work together so of course I mention her."

Gina narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not an idiot, Rick. You work with those other detectives, the real-life Raley and Ochoa—"

"Ryan and Esposito," he supplied automatically.

"Yeah, them. You work with them too but you've mentioned them, just as 'the boys,' three times. You've mentioned Detective Beckett 17 times."

17 times. In what had to be less than an hour. He had? Really?

He suddenly remembered what Donna Vincennes, at the Ledger, had said about why she'd written that blurb about his rumored involvement with Beckett. _You went on and on about her. Beckett said the funniest this, she's the best that… _

He inwardly winced, his irritation abruptly leaving him to be replaced with something like… guilt, even shame.

No, he didn't know exactly how he felt about Beckett, if he was—oh god—in love with her. But that was the problem. He _could_ love Beckett. He knew that for damn sure. He might not be in love with her, not fully, not yet, but he could love her.

Beckett was extraordinary. He'd always known that but in this last year, learning just how extraordinary she really was, seeing more of the depths of her strength and her heart… Beckett was—he set his teeth a little against the flare of pain at the admission—right now, Beckett was… it for him. She was the only woman, as far as he—his heart—was concerned. No one else could compare.

And no, it didn't seem to matter that she wasn't interested, that she was dating another man. The heart wants what the heart wants. And his stupid, overly optimistic, glutton-for-punishment heart wanted Beckett.

Shit.

"Sorry," he finally managed to say. He knew his tone sounded flat, not quite remorseful, even if he actually was, but he couldn't help that, was trying hard to keep his own hurt out of his voice. It was one thing to talk about Beckett when he got excited and forgot himself but he wasn't going to confide his hurt in his ex-wife and soon-to-be-if-she-wasn't-already ex-girlfriend. (And what kind of temporary insanity had made him think that could be a good idea to begin with?)

"Yeah, me too," Gina clipped out and it wasn't forgiving. He tried not to wince, again. "I'm going to go pack my things and get out of here."

He felt another stab of guilt. "I can drive you," he offered lamely.

She shot him a look. "Don't be dumb, Rick. I can take care of myself and Black Pawn will cover it anyway since I was out here trying to make you write."

His guilt and his shame receded a little at that. That was Gina for you, business first. Whatever hurt or disappointment she might feel, she was his publisher first. Just like always. "Suit yourself."

She paused to look at him. "I don't know what's going on between you and Detective Beckett but whatever it is, you still owe me the first draft of _Naked Heat_ and I'll expect it by the end of the week, at the latest. Any later and we'll have to start going after your advance."

"Fine." He supposed he should just be grateful she was giving him until the end of the week, as she'd said she would at the start of the weekend, rather than pushing up the deadline out of spite. But no, that wasn't fair of him either, he thought tiredly. He and Gina had their issues—obviously—but she wasn't a bad person, wasn't vindictive, and for the most part, she did have his best interests—well, his career's best interests—at heart.

Gina vanished inside the house, taking her plate and her glass of wine with her.

After a moment, he leaned forward to blow out the candle before he sat back again. There was certainly no need to try to create atmosphere anymore.

Gina's question—_are you in love with Detective Beckett_—echoed in his mind. Was he in love with Beckett? He might be. He could be.

And he'd still asked Gina to come out to the Hamptons with him. He grimaced into the encroaching darkness. That didn't paint him in any too positive a light.

Castle liked to think of himself as a good man. Whatever his faults—and he knew he had them—he liked to think he was a good, decent guy. He tried to be honest, kept his promises. He had never cheated on anyone, never gotten involved with a woman who was in a relationship.

As much as he might not be sure exactly how he felt about Beckett, he knew he liked her, cared about her a lot. Beckett had become… a friend, a good friend even, was probably the most important person in his life aside from Alexis and his mother. He couldn't think of much he wouldn't do just to see her smile, make her happy. And if nothing else, seeing Beckett's apartment explode when she was inside had told him just how deeply he cared about her. Those moments when he'd thought she might be… gone… ranked as among the worst of his life, right up there with the times he'd been terrified over Alexis.

And yet, even knowing all that, he had still asked Gina to come out here with him. And before that, he hadn't hesitated before falling into bed with Ellie Monroe—that might have been a stupid meaningless fling on both sides but still.

Faced with the prospect of a summer alone, without Alexis—and fine, after finding out that Beckett lied to him about going away for the weekend with Demming—he'd given in to his hurt and, yes, his petulance and not a small amount of self-pity, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, asked Gina to come with him. Under the theory that it was better to be with someone he liked (at least, most of the time) than be alone, if he couldn't have the one he wanted.

Which might not be wrong, per se, but it certainly wasn't fair to Gina. It was one thing to have a fling with someone who knew the ropes, knew that it was only going to be sex, but another thing to try to start a relationship under essentially false pretenses. Which was what he'd done with Gina. Not deliberately, perhaps, but still, what kind of insanity had made him think he could start something again with Gina, of all people, when he knew that Gina could never compete with Beckett? Maybe, if it had been someone he didn't already know so well, someone he could tell himself might be able to match up to Beckett in his eyes, it might have been okay but Gina was not that person. Not only because Kate Beckett existed in the world but because he should know by now that he and Gina, no matter how they might technically work on paper, did not work in real life. They never really had and short of one or the other of them undergoing some drastic and fundamental change of character, they never would.

He supposed he should just be relieved that this new start with Gina had ended so quickly, before Gina could get any more invested, before either of them could waste any more time. Before he could use her any more just to avoid being alone. That was what he'd been doing, he admitted now. He'd been using her.

And whatever Gina's faults, she deserved better than that.

He heard the sound of a soft step behind him and turned to see Gina, changed into a shirt and pants. No need to try to attract him now.

"I'm all packed and I've arranged for a car to pick me up." She hesitated but just added, "I guess I'll hear from you in the next few days with the first draft."

He sighed a little and stood up, taking a few steps toward her. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. And I'll get the draft to you by the end of the week. I promise."

She nodded. "Okay." He could tell from her tone that he wasn't fully forgiven, not that he'd really expected to be. "Bye, Rick."

"See you later."

She turned and left, going back into the house and then out of it again to where a car was no doubt waiting.

And he was left alone.

_~To be continued…~_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: _I'm glad so many people seem to be excited to see yet another post-S2 fic and only hope this story lives up to expectations.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 2_

Kate Beckett was just fine.

Really, she was. There was absolutely nothing wrong at all.

She was fine. Better than fine, even. Her life was back to its usual order, just the way she liked it, quiet and predictable, just another cop working with other no-nonsense cops.

She downed her first coffee of the day, grimacing a little at the bitter taste. She didn't know why coffee seemed to have lost some of its savor to her. Really.

She refused to think that it had anything at all to do with… him. It was totally ridiculous and irrational and impossible to think that it might. It was her imagination. Coffee could not taste any differently because she made it and it wasn't being handed to her, along with a smile that she swore warmed her insides just as much as the heat of the coffee and seemed to infuse her coffee too with its sweetness.

Ugh, no, what was she thinking? Smiles didn't have a taste and they certainly didn't—couldn't—infuse anything with an added taste. She was being stupid to imagine that coffee would taste differently just because he wasn't giving it to her.

Besides, any idea that his coffee had actually meant anything at all was clearly wrong because he hadn't had any problem with leaving her and walking off into the sunset with his blond ex-wife/publisher.

It wasn't just the coffee either, even though she didn't want to admit it. Refused to admit it. There was nothing to admit. She was imagining things, that was all.

And the changes she wasn't imagining were changes for the better. Really, they were. Who needed some annoying writer pestering them when they were trying to do actual work? Wild conspiracy theories and baseless speculation were not helpful. And anyway, she was a cop and a damn good one too. She'd been a good one before he came along and she could continue to be a good one long after he had gone.

Good riddance and all that. Really. It was good to be able to work without distractions.

Because she hadn't ended up going anywhere with Tom—and it was probably a sign of just how little interested in him she had really been that she felt not even a twinge of regret for breaking up with him, even with all that had happened with Castle—she had ended up working over the holiday weekend after all and naturally, she and the boys had caught a case.

Not a strictly Beckett-flavored one but one that had enough twists and turns it would have kept Castle—no, no, no, she cut off the thought. She absolutely had to stop thinking about him like this, letting him insinuate himself into her thoughts like this. God, it was so absurd, how she couldn't seem to go even one hour without something reminding her of him, from her first morning cup of coffee on.

She gritted her teeth and focused on work, the case. They had a few alibis to double check and she pushed all else out of her mind until finding out that one of the people they had talked to had lied about his alibi led to them solving the case.

Solving a case necessarily meant paperwork and she devoted herself to it as if her entire future depended on filling the forms out correctly. See, she was just fine. It wasn't as if he—wasn't as if she needed any help on paperwork. She didn't need anyone else in order to get her work done.

"Yo, Beckett."

She looked up to find Espo hovering next to her desk, holding out a latte.

She eyed him and the cup somewhat dubiously. "You made me coffee? What's up with you?"

Espo had the grace to look a little self-conscious as he placed the latte on her desk, shrugging a little with overblown casualness. "I was making myself one anyway and Ryan's been bugging me so he doesn't get one."

Uh huh, sure. She inwardly writhed a little since this was possibly the closest to a show of sympathy she would ever get from Espo. "Well, thanks," she tossed out lightly. "But don't think this means you can duck out of doing your share of paperwork," she added.

"Damn," Espo pretended to grumble. "See if I bring you a latte again." He turned and made his way back to his own desk in a show of high dudgeon.

She hid a small smile in her cup. It might rankle to know that the boys—and Lanie and Captain Montgomery, at that—had witnessed that humiliating scene where she'd been caught so off-guard by the arrival of Gina, Castle's obvious shrugging-off of their partnership—but at least, she knew they were on her side. Ryan had gone so far as to drop some not-subtle comments in the past couple days about how nice it was not to have to worry about civilians getting in the way (although he then followed it up by looking rather guilty for saying so) and now, Espo with his coffee.

Of course, Espo's latte-making skills were nowhere near the same as—never mind, she wasn't thinking about that. It was a latte. It was a good pick-me-up for the long afternoon hours after lunch and that was all.

She put her head back down over her paperwork.

"Beckett?"

This time, Kate startled a little, her hand jerking, as she snapped to attention. It was Ryan this time. "Yeah, what's up?" She tried to look as if nothing was the matter, as if she always started so badly when someone said her name.

"You okay if I head out for the day?"

She glanced at the clock on her monitor, startled to realize it was well after 5 and after shift-end. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. Have a good night."

Ryan was even less subtle than Espo had been about studying her but he knew better than to comment and only offered her a half-smile and a wave. "Night, Beckett."

She glanced at Espo to see him equally unsubtly just turning away from watching this brief interplay and grimaced to herself, suddenly angry. What the hell was she doing? She'd been staring at _his_ chair by her desk—no, not his anymore, just _the_ chair by her desk. Mooning over a chair!

Okay, that was too much. This was pathetic. She refused to be this pathetic person who couldn't get one annoying man out of her head and pined over a chair, of all stupid inanimate objects. She was just done. Time to get out there again, get back on the horse, as it were.

And fortunately for her, since they had just closed a case, she had an evening free.

With sudden decision, she hurriedly got ready to leave the precinct and headed straight to the morgue, to Lanie's autopsy room, finding Lanie stripping off her rubber gloves and washing her hands for the end of her day.

"Come out and get a drink with me," Kate invited baldly, without preamble.

Lanie blinked at her and then narrowed her eyes. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," she denied a little too quickly. "I'm just feeling restless and since we closed our latest case today, I have the night off so I want to go out somewhere, have some fun." Pick up a guy to make her forget about a certain someone—but Kate didn't say that, refused to mention him even in passing.

"Uh huh," Lanie said, not trying to mask her skepticism in the slightest. "And you just suddenly feel this urge for a night out on the town?"

Kate managed to meet her friend's eyes. "Yes, so are you in?"

Lanie shook her head, pursing her lips a little in disbelief, but agreed. "Okay, if you say so. Go put on a slinky dress and I'll meet you at your place at 8:30."

"Great. Thanks, Lanie."

Kate left the morgue with as little ceremony as she'd entered it. If Lanie wasn't going to interrogate her at the moment, she would accept that as the mercy it was and get out of there before Lanie could change her mind. Besides, she did need to change if she were going to go out. She ignored the nagging sense that it was a dumb idea, wasn't going to fix anything. She worked hard, damn it, and she deserved a night out for some fun and since Cas—a certain jackass had made it clear he wasn't interested in her for anything other than a booty call, well, she was certainly not going to sit around pining for him. She had every right to go out and have some fun, distract herself with an attractive man.

A couple hours later, Kate tossed back the rest of her glass of whiskey and then, after telling Lanie she was going to dance, she slid off her stool and headed to the small space that served as the dance floor. She sensed the gazes of a couple guys on her as she walked and deliberately put some more sway into her hips, letting the buzz of the alcohol and the pulsing beat of the music erode her inhibitions.

She could hardly remember the last time she had set out to pick up a guy at a random bar like this but tonight, she was determined, looking for a distraction. And with the short, tight dress she was wearing, it shouldn't be hard at all.

She combed her fingers through her hair, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment, as she started to dance, her body falling into the rhythm of the music pounding from the speakers. It was loud in here but she hoped the relatively open dance floor would be enough to draw out any of the couple guys who she knew had been eyeing her.

And as if on cue, she felt a warm hand on her waist and her eyes opened to see a guy's interested gaze and smile.

He leaned in to make his voice heard over the music. "Care to dance?"

She stopped herself from wrinkling her nose as she caught a whiff of either his aftershave or his cologne that was a touch too strong, not entirely pleasant to her. Unlike Cas—she cut off the name, the thought. No, no, she wasn't thinking that. She made herself smile instead. "Sure."

With her agreement, his other hand made its way to her waist, just above the flare of her hips, as he moved closer. She could feel the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of her dress, the warmth of his breath against her face, as she swayed closer to him.

In her heels, they were almost exactly the same height and she draped her arms loosely around his neck. He was tall enough, maybe an inch or so shorter, his shoulders not as broad, as—no. She had to stop this. Why oh why could her mind not seem to get its act together, persist in making comparisons?

She wasn't thinking about—anyone else, she resolved, would focus on this guy. He was good-looking, his body toned and strong where it fit against hers, setting off tiny sparks of attraction. Not an inferno of desire by any means but it would do. And it felt good to be wanted.

She pressed her body closer, her hips fitting themselves to his, as they moved in time to the music.

Distraction accomplished.

She smiled at him, moving closer to whisper, "I'm Kate."

"I'm —ick."

No. Her steps stuttered, her heart starting to rabbit in her chest. The pulsing noise of the music had drowned out the first sound of his name so all she heard was the end. No, no, his name could not be the same as—_his_.

"Sorry, I missed that," she managed over the tightening of her throat.

"Loud in here," he agreed, raising his voice a little and leaning in closer. "I'm Nick," he repeated.

She relaxed marginally. Nick. _Not_ Rick. She tried to relax, breathe through the surge of emotion.

"So what do you do, Kate?"

"I'm a cop."

"Really?" She was no stranger to adverse reactions to her job but then he drew back to meet her eyes, his eyes wide with surprise and, oh, that was admiration. The strobe lights flashing overhead briefly illuminated the upper half of his face, his light blue eyes.

His eyes were the wrong shade.

The absurd thought darted into her mind and she hastily squelched it. There was no such thing as a right or wrong eye color.

"That is so sexy," he breathed against her ear. She shut her eyes, as if she could force herself to react to his voice the way she did to another man's voice when it went husky. But no, there was nothing, her body remained stubbornly unmoved.

"What about you?" she returned, trying to distract herself.

"I'm a teacher. I teach English at City College."

Her hands fell away from him as she froze, her heart crashing into her rib cage, all her mostly futile attempts to distract herself, keep _him_ out of her mind, demolished into rubble at this final stroke. He taught English of all subjects—and all she could hear in her mind was Castle's voice thanking her for using irony correctly, her light response about his "grammatical influence" over her.

"Kate? What is it? Is it something I said?"

She only vaguely registered Nick's words, his concerned gaze, as she pulled away from him. "No, no, I'm sorry but I can't do this. Sorry," she repeated again, her gaze flickering at him. He was tall, good-looking and, she assumed, intelligent—but he wasn't Castle. Damn it damn it damn it.

She retreated from the dance floor to where she'd left Lanie, vaguely aware that Nick was calling her name and following after her. Lanie was still at the bar, flirting with a man, but she glanced over and caught sight of Kate before Kate had to go over and actually interrupt Lanie and her latest flirt. And that was all it took as Lanie—thank goodness for a good friend—immediately disengaged from her flirtation and excused herself, grabbing her and Kate's things, before she headed straight to Kate, linking arms with her.

And thanks to Lanie, it was barely seconds before they were both outside, leaving the noise and crowd of the bar behind, with Lanie hailing a cab with the ease of a New Yorker and ushering Kate inside it.

It wasn't until the cab was pulling away from the curb that Lanie turned to Kate. "What happened back there? One second, you seemed like you were getting friendly with that hottie and the next, you're running away. Did he do something?"

Kate choked on something approaching a laugh. "No, no, it wasn't him. It was me. I just… couldn't."

"You couldn't what? Couldn't dance?"

She couldn't stop thinking about Castle. Kate didn't say that. She lowered her eyes to focus on the strip of skin where her dress had ridden up. "His name is Nick, of all things. He teaches English and he thinks me being a cop is sexy."

Put like that, it sounded pathetic—it was pathetic—a few random facts but put together, it was too much. Too much for her pitiful stupid heart, at least.

At least—small mercy—it was enough for Lanie, who immediately picked up on what—who—the real issue was, sparing Kate the need to say his name aloud. "Oh, Kate… What happened between you two?"

It occurred to Kate that it was to Lanie's credit that Lanie had not asked that before. For all that Lanie could be—undoubtedly was—fearless and even brash, she wasn't insensitive.

"Nothing," Kate answered with brittle composure. Nothing had actually happened. Thank god Gina had arrived when she had, before Kate could totally humiliate herself in front of Castle. And no matter what the boys—and Montgomery and Lanie—might guess at from her watching Castle walk away, his arm around his ex-wife, they didn't actually _know_ anything. She knew they'd guessed that she'd broken up with Tom and possibly guessed at the reason—detectives that they were—but they didn't actually know.

"Don't give me that, Beckett. Castle has been mooning over you for months and in spite of what you say, you've been flirting right back at him. I know Demming's not in the picture anymore and then suddenly Castle's walking off into the sunset with his ex-wife? Come on, Beckett. Something happened."

"It was nothing," she insisted. "He just lost interest, moved on, that's all. All he ever wanted was a notch on his bedpost."

Ugh, worse and worse. She sounded so bitter—so jealous—that it was a wonder she didn't look bilious with it.

"Sure, guys always run into burning buildings to save the lives of women they just think of as notches on their bedpost," Lanie said sarcastically.

"It's fine!" Kate insisted. "I'm fine. I'm over it." That was a bald-faced lie. As tonight had amply demonstrated.

Lanie didn't even bother to snort but her silence and her look were eloquent.

"I'll be fine," Kate amended. "I don't know why I ever thought he was anything more than a cocky playboy jackass anyway. Clearly, he's not so I'll get over it. It was stupid anyway."

So she insisted, trying to convince herself as well as Lanie, and made herself meet Lanie's eyes as steadily as she could.

"If you say so," Lanie finally sighed, not as if she believed Kate but as if she knew better than to try to argue.

Well, Kate would take that small mercy if nothing else. "Sorry to cut your night short."

"Eh, never mind. There are always other guys and he thought he was more interesting than he really was, anyway."

Kate snorted a laugh. "Sounds like that Brad Decker you tried to set me up with a couple months ago. He was hot, sure, but he had no conversation."

She had enjoyed the meal at Remy's later that night a lot more. Not that she was thinking about it or wanted it to happen again.

Lanie took the hint and they passed the short trip back to Kate's apartment swapping old stories of boring dates they'd been on. Which was just fine with Kate and did not make her think about that meal at Remy's or the few meals she'd had with him when she'd stayed at the loft.

It was with a sense of relief that Kate returned to her apartment, making a face. It had been a dumb idea to begin with.

And she really wished she could make herself believe what she'd claimed to Lanie, that Castle was just a cocky playboy jackass who wasn't worthy of her time.

She suppressed a sigh and deliberately poured herself a glass of whiskey. The guy part of the distraction had obviously been a fiasco but that didn't mean she couldn't still drink more. The alcohol would take the edge off thinking about Castle. She hoped.

Because he might be cocky and he could certainly be a jackass sometimes but she knew by now that it wasn't all he was. That was clear every time she saw him with Alexis or with Martha, when she mentioned her mother. The man who had offered up $100,000 of his own money without batting an eye in order to try to catch her mother's killer and called it a small price to pay. The man who called her extraordinary and somehow managed to make her feel as if she really could be as extraordinary as he already thought she was.

She tossed back another gulp of whiskey, grimacing at the burn of alcohol down her throat. Almost as bitter as her regrets. God, had she really just thought that? She'd been spending too much time with Castle. When had her thoughts started to sound like him? It was absurd and so wrong, after all her protests about his coming into the precinct in the first place and as annoying as he could be, but he had somehow found a way to wiggle his way past her outer defenses, insinuating himself into what seemed like every aspect of her life, until she couldn't escape the thought of him.

What made it worse was that she couldn't blame him. Oh, in the first flush of hurt and humiliation, she'd been angry but she couldn't hold on to the anger. Of course he'd had every right to ask his ex-wife to join him at the Hamptons. Maybe he could have waited longer after her rejection before turning to the next available woman but he hadn't actually done anything wrong; he was a free agent. All he knew was that she had turned him down and lied to him about her own weekend plans, in a long-since-regretted impulse of self-consciousness and, fine, her typical avoidance of talk about her personal life. Not helped by the niggling second thoughts she'd had from basically the moment she'd accepted Tom's invitation, wondering if she really wanted to go away for a romantic weekend with him so soon, not even two months into their relationship. So she'd lied to Castle—stupidly—and then, in an about-face, broken up with Tom, having finally decided to give things with Castle a chance, take a risk in her personal life. This, after turning Castle down and generally discouraging him time and time again over the last year and more.

She was the one in the wrong. She was the one who had started up the flirtation with Tom because he'd been fun and uncomplicated and safe. Because she had always known that Tom was a good, decent guy, one who would treat her well but who, ultimately, would never really be able to hurt her. He wouldn't have been able to get past her defenses far enough to really hurt her. She could admit that now. Oh, she had liked Tom but she'd always been firmly in control of herself where he was concerned. His kisses had been nice, pleasant, but she'd never been in any danger of losing control when making out with him and she'd known that would extend to other aspects of their relationship too. Tom had been little more than a distraction, a pleasant way to pass the time.

Not much more than what Nick would have been, if that ill-fated attempt had managed to go anywhere. Ugh.

Kate finished her glass of whiskey and briefly contemplated another. She didn't intend to get drunk tonight and she did still have to work tomorrow so probably better not.

What were the odds that of all the single men in Manhattan she happened to run into one whose first name only differed from Castle's by a letter and whose job had to be one that would remind her of Castle? Although, given her seeming inability to avoid thinking about Castle for long, just about anyone would probably still have reminded her of Castle in some way.

And that was really the problem. What was it Castle had said after the Balthazar Wolf case? The heart wants what the heart wants.

She might not want to admit it but after tonight, she had to accept that at least right now, her mind—her heart?—was too fixated on Castle. Moving on or getting over him was just not going to happen, not yet.

Even if he was back together with his ex-wife. Shit.

_~To be continued…~_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N 1: I'm absolutely blown away by the response to this story! Thank you all so much.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 3_

By dint of buckling down and writing for hours on end, Castle was able to finish the first draft of _Naked Heat_ with a day to spare before Gina's extended deadline. He sent the draft to Gina with a few decisive clicks of the mouse before he leaned back, stretching his arms over his head in an attempt to work out the kinks.

Now that he had emerged from his writing haze, he became aware, again, of the echoing quiet of the house. He could faintly hear the sound of the radio from the kitchen, which he had taken to leaving on all day as a form of background noise to try to counteract the quiet, an attempt to fool himself into not feeling quite so alone. An attempt that was failing.

He grimaced as he stood up and left his office in search of food now that the draft was done and he could really take a break. He threw together a quick sandwich and took it outside to eat on the terrace as he enjoyed the brilliant pinks and oranges starting to stain the sky as the sun set. It was gorgeous but even as he appreciated the beauty, he felt the loneliness start to set in again, weighing on his shoulders.

He had always loved it here, having a beachside retreat like this, but he was finding that apparently, what he had really loved was being here with his family. It was his place to be alone with his daughter and, yes, his mother, without needing to worry about any interruptions. In the Hamptons, he wasn't much of a celebrity and out here, his wealth was certainly nothing special so this had been one of the places he could go out with his daughter and be assured of normal treatment.

Damn, he missed his daughter. And even if he might not admit it to her, he missed his mother too. He was just _lonely_. He was a people person and he was starting to have nightmarish visions of how bleak and desolate his life would be when Alexis left for college in the not-nearly-distant-enough future. He had tried not to worry about it too much until now, had always rather hoped that by the time Alexis was ready to leave for college, he would have found that lasting, real relationship that had eluded him until now.

And yet, here he was, pushing forty—ugh—with Alexis about to leave for college in just a couple years and he was as alone as ever.

By now, the last shards of color were fading from the sky and he was getting tired of his own maudlin thoughts so he pulled out his cell phone and called the one person who always cheered him up. It was both late enough that he was reasonably sure he wouldn't be interrupting anything and at the same time early enough to call on a weeknight, since he knew his responsible daughter too well to think that she would stay up too late.

He smiled automatically, feeling the familiar flare of warmth when he heard her voice. "Hey, Dad."

"Hi, pumpkin. Is this a good time?"

"Yeah, it's perfect timing, actually. I just got back to my dorm room after going out for dinner with some friends."

"Sounds like fun. So how's my favorite Princetonite? Princetonian? Princeton-er? No, Princetonese!" He grinned as he heard her laugh. Mission accomplished.

"If it makes it simpler, the mascot is the tiger so you could call me your favorite Princeton Tiger," she suggested lightly, indulging him in his silliness as she so often did. His sweet little girl.

"My favorite daughter too," he quipped and could picture the roll of her eyes at the old joke.

"Dad, I'm your only daughter." Her usual response.

"All the more reason for you to be my favorite," he returned, also as usual.

"Da-ad," she drew the word out in one of her 'silly Dad' tones and he grinned, his heart feeling lighter just from this familiar exchange.

"So tell me what you've been up to these last few days," he prompted. "Are you having fun?"

"Oh, so much fun, Dad!" she gushed and he listened as she enthused about her classes and the friends she had made—one Lisa from San Francisco, a Julie from Chicago, an Ashley who was actually going to be transferring to Alexis's school back in the City by a strange coincidence. The sound of her cheerful voice soothed the ache of missing her, eased the little knot of worry he always felt whenever he wasn't with Alexis. And as always, knowing his daughter was well and happy made his own heart lift.

"That's enough about me," she finished after a few minutes. "What about you? How is the writing coming? Are you almost done yet?"

"I just finished the first draft today, actually," he announced with the little spurt of triumph he hadn't quite felt earlier.

"That's great, Dad! So will this be your best book yet?" she teased, as she usually did.

His lips twitched but he answered pensively, "No, I don't think so."

"What? You've never sounded so down about a first draft before. What's wrong with it?"

He shrugged, forgetting for the moment that she couldn't see him. "Nothing's specifically wrong. I just don't think it's one of my best efforts."

It was just a nagging sense of dissatisfaction that he couldn't pin down, a sense that he wasn't getting Be—_Nikki's_ character right, her voice didn't sound right to him. He refused to think, let alone admit out loud, that his feelings about the book had anything at all to do with the general discontent, not to say hurt, he felt when he thought about, well, _her_. It wasn't about Beckett specifically and it certainly didn't mean he was actually… well, that he cared about her like that. It was only that she was his muse and his inspiration and it was, of course, going to be harder to write a character based on her when he hadn't seen her in a while. That was all it was, nothing personal.

"Oh, Dad, I'm sorry," Alexis offered. "What does Gina say? Is she happy you finished the draft?"

Oh right, Gina. He'd… forgotten… that he hadn't spoken to Alexis on the phone since before Gina had left. He and Alexis had only exchanged a few text messages since, as he hadn't wanted to disturb her or get in the way of her first week of settling in and orienting herself.

Not that he imagined Alexis would be all that upset to know he and Gina had broken up, again. Alexis and Gina had never gotten very close. Which, he supposed, had probably not boded well for their relationship anyway.

"I assume so but I wouldn't really know. Gina's back in the City now."

"Oh. You… did you guys break up?" Alexis's voice was quieter, a little diffident, since his personal life was probably the one subject on which he and Alexis never spoke with any ease.

"Yeah. She left on Monday," he answered briefly and tried to sound nonchalant about it.

"Oh. Wait, so you're all alone out there? Oh, Dad, what are you going to do? Will you be okay?"

"I'm fine, pumpkin," he huffed a little. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know."

"I'll believe that when I see it," she returned quickly and pertly and he smiled almost in spite of himself, warmed, as usual, by his daughter's concern. He might not want her to worry about him but he did love that she was sweet enough and loved him enough to worry.

"I really am fine, Alexis. I've just been writing until now so I've mostly spent the day holed up in my office anyway and now I plan to take it easy a little, go swimming."

"Are you sure, Dad? If you're all alone out there, why don't you go back home to the city? Oh! You could call up Detective Beckett and go back to the precinct. That will give you something to do and cheer you up too."

He really hated the way his heart reacted to the mere mention of Beckett's name. "I don't think so, sweetie," he temporized. "I told them I'd be taking the summer off and I don't want to get in the way of their work."

"Since when has that stopped you?" Alexis teased.

"Hey!" he protested automatically but had to laugh.

"Seriously, Dad, you should try calling, if not Detective Beckett, then maybe Detective Ryan or Esposito, and see what they say to you coming back early. I don't want to think of you all alone in the Hamptons. That seems so lonely."

"I promise I'm really fine but if it makes you feel better, I will think about it," he promised. "And I'd remind you that it's my job to worry about you, not yours to worry about me."

"Why can't we take turns, split time so we can each worry?" she suggested jokingly.

"Funny girl," he returned dryly but had to smile. "I'm fine and you should focus on your classes and your friends."

"Yes, Dad," Alexis returned with exaggerated obedience and he could easily picture the expression on her face, that small half-smile of tolerant affection.

"Good girl."

"What am I, a dog?" she shot back.

"Woof."

She laughed, as he intended her to. "Silly Dad. I still have an assignment or two to finish up for class tomorrow so I'd better go."

"Okay, you go do that. I'll talk to you later, pumpkin."

"Good night, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too. Good night."

He was smiling when he ended the call, warmth lingering in his chest as always from his conversation with his daughter, but the smile faded as he was reminded, again, that Alexis wasn't here, that he wouldn't see her again for weeks. She had promised to join him in the Hamptons for the Fourth of July long weekend but that was still more than three weeks away. He should drive out to Princeton some weekend to visit her.

And really, it wasn't as if he'd needed Alexis's suggestion to have the thought of going back to the precinct in his mind. Now that he was done with the first draft and had some time before Black Pawn would get the edits back to him, he was at loose ends.

He wanted to go back to the precinct, missed it in a way that had nothing to do with Beckett. The precinct had become something like a second home to him. It was one place he felt valued just for himself, the one place outside of his own home where no one cared about his money or his fame or his connections. He liked that, liked too the sense of purpose he had found there, actually making a difference. The work the NYPD did was important and being able to contribute mattered to him.

But he still couldn't quite imagine going back. Because he didn't want to see Beckett or more accurately, didn't want to see Beckett and Demming. He grimaced into the growing darkness at the thought. He could picture it too easily, his vivid writer's imagination a curse in this instance. How much deeper the relationship could have gotten after a romantic weekend away. That was what hurt so much too, because for Beckett, who was so reserved and prickly to agree to go away for a romantic weekend with Demming meant that she was serious about Demming. Beckett wasn't the kind of woman to agree to go away with a man for a fling; she wasn't the kind of woman who had flings to begin with, as far as he could tell.

Seeing Demming constantly haunting the homicide floor of the 12th. Using the coffee machine Castle had bought, to add insult to injury. Seeing Beckett and Demming disappear into a stairwell or some deserted hallway corner to sneak a few kisses. Seeing Beckett return from those little interludes, no doubt looking gorgeous—more gorgeous than usual—with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips. He could picture it all. And he thought seeing it in real life might make him physically sick if it didn't kill him.

Which didn't exactly support his 'not in love with Beckett' thesis. Shit.

He scowled. Time to man up and face the facts. He wanted to be with Beckett, that was undeniable. And he didn't want to be with anyone else but Beckett. But she was with someone else.

Fine. He could deal with that. Men have died and the worms have eaten them, but not for love, as Shakespeare said. He didn't need Beckett; he could keep busy and be perfectly fine on his own, just like he'd told Alexis.

Well, at least he succeeded at the 'keeping busy' part of his resolution.

In the next week, Castle resolutely did just that. He was assisted in that because summer was a busy time for the publishing industry—understandable as summer vacation tended to give people more time to read—so Black Pawn shipped him a box full of advance copies of books to read and review. Castle was mindful of the fact that he owed at least a certain amount of his early success to people like Patterson and Connelly and some of Black Pawn's other, older established authors, who had all lent their names to his first book covers, so he tried to be generous with his time and his praise when he reviewed books.

He reached out to Paula, who was more than happy to arrange for some last-minute book signings. He hadn't done quite as many book signings and publicity events for _Heat Wave_ as he normally would have, partly because of his long-standing rule not to travel while Alexis was in school and also because he'd been reluctant to leave the precinct for any length of time. So now, he tried to make up for it, going to book signings in Long Island, in Philly, one in Princeton, which he purposely requested so he would have an excuse to visit Alexis.

He flirted with some of the female fans at his various signings (half-heartedly, admittedly), seeking some spark of attraction, of intrigue, someone who seemed like they could help take his mind off a certain detective. It didn't work.

He didn't want someone whose breasts were practically spilling out of her dress; he wanted someone who seemed largely indifferent to her beauty, who wore conservative sweaters and button downs and slacks, along with four-inch heels. He didn't want someone who gushed over him; he wanted sardonic banter and biting wit. He didn't want someone who appeared to have never had a thought about anything other than makeup, clothes, or money; he wanted someone with depth, someone who was smart and thoughtful. He just wanted Beckett. And he didn't know who he was kidding with even trying to flirt with other women because he should know by now that there was only one Kate Beckett.

He was bored with his fans and the publicity role. And he was lonely. When he wasn't even alone! He was usually surrounded by other people, not just because of the publicity circuit but because he spent a fair amount of time out and about relaxing in the Hamptons too, going into town and checking out the stores and other sights. He went to the Bridgehamptons Polo Club to watch a match, not that he was much of a polo fan but for the social scene, and also to the Hamptons Sand Bar, for the same reason. It was a skill he had honed over the years, how to walk into a room full of people and exude the sort of charm, the jovial bonhomie, that quickly drew people to him, made him the center of a crowd. His years growing up and moving around a lot had taught him how to make friends easily and the years when he had been the latest celebrity, the center of attention, had perfected the skill. He was still good at it, even if he was a little out of practice, working a crowd. But he found that he didn't feel very comfortable in the role anymore. It was as if he was wearing an old outfit, one that didn't fit perfectly anymore.

Spending so much time in the precinct had changed him, he realized, spending so much time with cops had changed him. Made him, well, grow up a little. He no longer felt quite at ease with this sort of society, these people who seemed to float above reality in a way, insulated from it with their wealth and connections. It was odd because he was still technically one of them, with his money and his fame, but he didn't feel like he belonged. Not anymore.

He missed being in the precinct. Missed the company of cops with their dark humor and biting jibes masking the real camaraderie and the seriousness of the work.

And he missed Beckett's company—in a platonic way. Okay, not platonic, there was no way he could even pretend the word applied to his feelings for Beckett but he did miss Beckett's company in a way that had nothing to do with lust or what she looked like. He wasn't quite sure when it had happened but she had become the first person he wanted to talk to about anything. She'd become… his best friend, as odd as that somehow sounded. He missed her quick wit, her sharp humor, that always kept him on his toes, missed her cleverness and her understanding. He wanted to know her opinion about things, anything he saw or heard, anything that happened. And he had discovered that just about everything, every train of thought he had, inevitably led to Beckett. What was that line from F. Scott Fitzgerald—she was the beginning and end of everything?

Oh god, he was in love with her.

It was stupid and shouldn't have been possible, to be in love with a woman he'd never kissed, never been on a date with, a woman who seemed to spend half her time annoyed with him. A woman who had turned him down more than once and who was dating someone else.

It was stupid and entirely irrational and setting himself up for heartbreak. And it was also undeniable. Damn it all to hell.

He threw a ferocious scowl at the innocent painting on the wall that should, by rights, have scorched a hole through it but the painting remained unaffected. And the ache in his chest did too.

He sighed heavily and wished, for about the millionth time in the last week, that Alexis was here. He wanted to see his daughter, the one person who never made him feel lacking, the one person whose love and trust he had never doubted, the person who could always lift his heart.

But she wasn't here. And—he glanced at his watch—she was probably too busy to talk since it was in the middle of the afternoon so she was probably just finishing up with her classes or out with her friends before dinner.

At least, he already had plans for dinner so he didn't have much time to be alone and mope. He had stopped by earlier in the week to visit his friends and neighbors, Rachel and Chris Tenney, as he did on every visit to thank them for their help in looking out for the house when he wasn't around and getting things ready for him before his visits. And the moment Rachel had learned that he was alone, she had immediately insisted he join them for dinner. She had gone so far as to say that he was welcome to join them for dinner that very day but he had demurred since he hadn't wanted to put her to the trouble of hosting an unexpected guest, especially when he had plenty of food in his own house. He had agreed to have dinner with them another day and they had settled on today.

Which was fortuitous timing for him, at least. He wouldn't be able to brood over his impending heartbreak for very long and Rachel and Chris were always congenial company so he hoped, trusted, that an evening spent with some real friends would cheer him up.

The dinner did go a long way towards cheering him up. He always enjoyed Rachel and Chris's company and he relaxed as they chatted and caught up on their lives in the last few months. They swapped stories about their respective kids, him talking about Alexis and the fun she was having at Princeton, while Rachel and Chris talked about their kids, their son who was working in New York City after graduating from college and their daughter, who had babysat Alexis back when Alexis had been younger and was now interning in Boston before starting her senior year at Smith College. Rachel and Chris had also gone on a trip to Yosemite back in April and shared stories and pictures from their trip, which he duly admired.

They were sitting back and relaxing before having dessert when Rachel asked, with an attempt at nonchalance that missed by a mile, "So Rick, you're all alone out here this summer? You didn't feel like inviting your girlfriend to come with you?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "There she goes," he interjected, sotto voce, addressing Castle before he threw his wife a teasing look. "What did I tell you about prying into Rick's personal life?"

Rachel reached over to playfully slap his arm. "Oh hush, you. I was only wondering, not prying."

"I'm not sure he sees it that way," Chris quipped.

Castle managed a chuckle, this teasing interplay between the couple giving him a moment to gather himself and try to ignore the significance of the fact that his mind immediately leaped to Beckett, who had never been his girlfriend, rather than to Gina, who actually had been. "There's nothing to tell because I don't have a girlfriend."

"But what about that detective you've been shadowing—Detective Beckett?"

He tried not to flinch or otherwise react to the mention of Beckett. He might have been thinking about her but to hear her name still startled him coming from Rachel, who had never met Beckett and was part of his life in the Hamptons, that seemed so distant from his life in the city. (And how was he supposed to get Beckett out of his mind—his heart—if people kept mentioning her?) "She's not my girlfriend," he corrected a little stiffly and then added, attempting to sound casual, "We're just friends."

"Oh." Rachel drooped in a way that would have been comical at any other time, about any other subject. "I thought… well, after the dedication to her in _Heat Wave_ and I read about the rumors of your relationship with her in the Ledger a couple months back, I guess I got my hopes up."

"Your hopes? Why would you be hoping anything about Beckett?" he blurted out before he could think better of it.

"From the way you write about her as Nikki Heat and that profile about her in Cosmo last fall, I liked the sound of her. She seems like she'd be good for you, smart and strong enough to keep you in line."

He inwardly cringed at the mere idea that people reading _Heat Wave_ might pick up on his unrequited feelings for Beckett; he hadn't intended any such thing. He pulled a face of humorous displeasure. "I think I'm offended. You think I need a keeper to make me behave?"

Rachel blinked at him in faux innocence. "Don't you? It always seems like that's part of Alexis's job but she has better things to do with her life now."

He had to laugh while Chris chuckled. "She does have a point, Rick."

"Alexis is just so good at being the responsible one. I hate to deprive her of the chance to use her skills," he defended with mock seriousness.

Rachel and Chris both laughed at this before Rachel sobered. "I don't see why you're still single, Rick. You're a good man. A woman would be lucky to be with you."

"Beckett doesn't see it like that," he muttered, the words escaping him before he could hold them back.

"I knew you were interested in her!" Rachel sounded triumphant.

He made a face. "So the Yankees are doing well, aren't they?" he blurted out, addressing Chris in what he guessed would be a doomed attempt to change the subject.

Predictably, Rachel ignored this. "Have you told your Detective Beckett you like her?"

Castle gave up on avoiding the subject of Beckett. "She's with someone else so no."

"Oh. Are you sure about that?"

"She was planning to go out of town with him for Memorial Day weekend."

"That was weeks ago," Rachel said dismissively with a wave of her hand that rather reminded him of his mother. "You should try calling her. You never know what might have happened since then."

Why was it everyone seemed to want him to call Beckett? "Maybe. I'll think about it," he placated. He wanted to and he didn't want to, all at the same time. He missed her but he was also terrified of hearing that she was still with Demming. He knew Beckett too well to think she would gush over Demming but even hearing her refer to Demming as 'Tom' would probably feel like a stab. 'Tom' when Beckett was too much of a cop to use first names comfortably with almost everyone else.

Finally, Chris interceded. "Enough prying into Rick's personal life. I think it's time for dessert because, I don't know about you, but that pie has been calling my name for at least an hour."

Rachel pretended to scowl at her husband. "Oh, fine, if you insist."

She made a show of huffing as she stood to get their desserts but it was belied by the way her hand briefly rested on her husband's shoulder as she passed him.

Chris's expression softened into one of affection as he watched his wife and Castle averted his eyes to brush some nonexistent crumbs off the table, feeling a sudden, ignoble pang of envy at Rachel and Chris's relationship, their obviously happy marriage. It was the sort of relationship he wanted but was starting to believe he might never find. And now he had his unrequited feelings for Beckett to contend with. When he compared every woman he met with Kate Beckett and found them all lacking in some way, he really was doomed.

But he had promised both Alexis and Rachel that he would think about calling Beckett.

Maybe… just maybe, he should—might call her. Rachel wasn't wrong; he really had no way of knowing if Beckett and Demming were still together. He had trouble imagining any sane man who was lucky enough to be with Beckett breaking up with her—and certainly Demming had shown every sign of being smitten—but then again, there had been Sorenson too. And Sorenson had obviously been stupid enough to let Beckett go.

And as Castle was all too aware, relationships ended all the time for a variety of reasons so maybe… He wasn't hoping for anything, he told himself. After all, Beckett had made it clear she wasn't interested in him even before Demming had appeared. But aside from anything else, he did miss her. So maybe he should call Beckett…

_~To be continued…~_


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: In which Castle finally calls Beckett. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 4_

Kate made a face and heaved a sigh when her phone rang. She had barely been home for half an hour and the delivery she'd ordered for her dinner hadn't even arrived but of course, homicides didn't keep to a regular schedule. It wouldn't be the first or the last time that Dispatch interrupted a meal.

She shut her eyes in some annoyance as she picked up her phone. "Beckett."

"Beckett, hi. It's me, uh, Castle."

Kate's eyes flew open as she straightened up on her couch, trying—and failing—to tamp down on the ridiculous flutter in her chest at the unexpected sound of his voice. "Castle, hi. I thought you were planning on spending the entire summer in the Hamptons." She sounded a little breathless and hoped desperately he would just assume she had hurried to answer the phone.

It had been weeks since she'd seen him. 18 days since he had walked out of the precinct. Not that she was counting. 18 days and 4 hours—okay, she might have been counting, sort of. She had finally gotten to a point where he didn't seem to be haunting her (she had definitely been spending too much time with Castle to think in such terms). She could go hours at a time without thinking of him more than once. Maybe twice. But really, she was getting better! Getting over him. Or trying to, at least. Throwing herself into her work, her usual refuge, as she always had before and steadfastly trying to ignore the fact that he seemed to have permeated every inch of the precinct, which was so unfair of him. But she'd been getting better! Told herself she was getting over him.

And now this. Just the sound of his voice sent her pulse leaping, all the work and effort she'd put into not thinking about him, pushing him out of her mind, reduced to rubble.

"I was. I am. I'm still in the Hamptons."

Oh. Of course he was. Why would he leave the paradise of the Hamptons and return to the grime of the big city when he didn't have to? No doubt he was enjoying long, lazy days with his girlfriend/publisher. The thought—reminder—of Gina, of Castle leaving her-the precinct-with his blonde ex-wife/current girlfriend/publisher under his arm effectively killed the butterflies that had appeared. She schooled her tone into indifference as she responded, "If you stumbled over a dead body out there, it's out of my jurisdiction." There, that sounded more like her usual self.

"No, I didn't. That's not why I'm calling. I just… wanted to say hi."

She blinked. Since when did Castle call just to say hi? They'd never had that kind of friendship, working relationship, whatever. "Oh. Well, hi."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. "This isn't a bad time, is it?"

"No, I just got home, that's all."

"Oh. Long day, then."

"You know how it is," she agreed thoughtlessly, only to have the words boomerang back and hit her with unanticipated force. Because they were true; he knew what her life was like and up until just a few weeks ago, he would have been right beside her at work, no matter the time of day. And now he wasn't.

She had to wonder why he was even calling her. Could he have missed her? But no, she dismissed the idea. He was the one who had chosen to leave after all. He had a girlfriend to cuddle with now. And he hadn't contacted her in any way in almost three weeks.

"So, how are you?"

"Busy with work, the usual," she answered blandly. She was not—absolutely was not—admitting that she maybe, might be, missing him, a little.

"Right, of course."

A moment of silence hummed over the line. This was getting weirder by the second and she felt a pinch of something like loss at the awkwardness. They had been… friends and had talked and bantered easily for the most part before he'd left—oh fine, her lying about going away with Tom had made things awkward too so no, it wasn't only about his leaving. Things had gotten less comfortable between them before he'd left and she didn't really want to admit that it had probably all started from the advent of Tom.

But this was still strange, felt… wrong, somehow. She and Castle had gone from seeing each other almost every day, working closely together, to, well, this—weeks of silence and now an awkward phone call where neither of them seemed able to talk. And really, she might have been caught off guard, unprepared, but what was his excuse? He had decided to call her, after all.

"Castle?" she prompted. "Was there something else you wanted to say? You are the one who called me."

"I, uh, hadn't thought that far ahead."

A laugh bubbled up, escaping her before she'd realized it, and she bit her lip. Damn it, he should not be able to make her laugh so quickly, so easily, in spite of everything and yet, he still could. It was something she'd forgotten, or more accurately, tried not to remember, just how easily Castle could make her laugh. Laughter had once more been in short supply in her life since he'd left. She and the boys might swap teasing barbs and morbid humor but it wasn't usually the sort that inspired outright laughter.

Somehow, her laugh seemed to clear the air a little, ease the awkwardness.

"Well, now we're on the phone so think fast, Castle," she found herself quipping, sitting back on her couch. "And since I'm nice, I'll even help. How is Alexis enjoying Princeton?"

"She's having a great time," he answered, his voice becoming easier, his tone warming, as she'd known it would at the mention of his daughter. Her stupid, traitorous heart softened further at this reminder of just how good a dad he was. "She's made some new friends and is enjoying her classes. I hate to say it but my daughter might be a freak of nature, to be so excited about taking summer classes."

"Yeah, you sound really disturbed," she responded dryly, since his tone had been suffused with pride. The pride she could remember seeing on his face whenever he looked at Alexis. "And how are you surviving being away from Alexis?" She remembered his joke about there having been a lot of tears when he dropped Alexis off—a joke, yes, but she'd also seen the flash of actual emotion in his eyes and she did know Castle well enough to know that he used humor as a shield.

"Well, that part hasn't been easy," he admitted, his voice sobering, and damn it if sympathy didn't make her stupid heart soften even more towards him.

Which, no doubt, explained why she forgot herself enough to ask, "Has Alexis being gone at least helped you be productive? How is your book coming?"

"It's done, actually. Or at least, the first draft of it is done. I sent it to Gina last week."

The mention of Gina had her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach, the ease they had found vanishing in an instant, even before the implication of his words could register. "You sent it to her? I thought she was there in the Hamptons with you." She was proud of herself for managing to sound only mildly curious. As if his getting back together with his ex-wife had nothing to do with her at all.

"She left," he answered briefly.

Left? What did that mean? Had they—she hated herself for the stupid flutter in her chest at the thought—broken up?

"It was stupid anyway," he continued after a moment. "I should have remembered that Gina and I don't work as a couple and we never really did. There's a reason we divorced in the first place."

Well, that answered her questions—and smashed through the embargo they seemed to have placed on talking about their personal lives in an instant. She wasn't quite sure what to say. She couldn't think of any way to contradict him but she also didn't want to sound like she was judging him for falling back into a relationship with his ex-wife, even if she couldn't entirely smother the little voice that was doing just that.

Her silence apparently made him bolder, or something, because he asked in a voice that sounded oddly controlled, "What about you? How's Demming?"

Right, Tom. The awkwardness was definitely back with a vengeance now, any hint of ease a distant memory. She chose her words carefully. "He's fine as far as I know."

"As far as you know?" he repeated.

Damn it, he would pick up on that. Not that she'd really thought he wouldn't and of course, her breaking up with Demming was bound to come out eventually. She was just sort of hoping that would be later rather than sooner since she absolutely did not want him to find out that she'd broken up with Demming for him. The memory of Gina's arrival returned to her like the slap in the face it had felt like then and she inwardly cringed all over again.

"Did you and Demming break up?" he asked.

Kate accepted the inevitable. "Yes," she answered succinctly. "I haven't seen him in a few days." There, that was nice and vague, right? Not technically untrue but also misleading. It had been more than a week since she'd seen Tom and that was only because she'd happened to run into him in the lobby of the precinct, which had been awkward since it had been the first meeting since their break-up a week before. She really was such a lawyers' daughter, she thought sardonically.

"Oh. That's too bad," he responded slowly, clearly picking his words but not able to muster any sincerity.

She bit back a snort. What the hell was wrong with him anyway? He gave every sign of being jealous of Tom and then, even knowing she was with Tom (stupid as that had been), he asked her to go out to the Hamptons and then, when she said no, he leaped immediately to the next available blonde? And fine, she admitted that lying about going away with Tom had been a mistake but even before that, there had been Ellie Monroe. It occurred to her—belatedly—that she might have started up her flirtation with Tom as a reaction to the Ellie Monroe thing to begin with. If Castle who hadn't exactly been subtle about his attraction to her, Kate, could still go and have a fling with an available actress, then Kate could prove that other men wanted her too.

_Yeah, that was real mature, Beckett_, an inner voice commented sarcastically.

She glared at the inner voice. It might not have been mature but he started it!

Oh, better and better. Any minute now, she'd be resorting to the elementary school playground argument—_did not._ Did too. _Did not._

Argh. _Shut up!_

"I don't want to talk about it," she bit off, her irritation bleeding into her voice.

"Of course you don't. God forbid Detective Beckett ever talk about anything," he shot back.

She stiffened, his tone flicking on the raw, even as some detached corner of her mind recognized that he'd been reacting to her tone. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Her challenge was interrupted by the sound of a sharp series of knocks on her door, making her startle. Now what?

"Just a minute. Someone's at the door," she managed with minimal courtesy. See, she could be a grown-up.

She didn't wait for his response before she put her phone down and went to answer her door, peeking through the peephole warily before she relaxed at the sight of the familiar delivery boy for her usual Chinese place. Oh right, this would be her dinner.

She opened her door, thanking the boy and tipping him, before depositing her dinner on the coffee table and then going to the kitchen to retrieve a plate and silverware. The mundanity of the actions had her irritation fading. God, what was it with her and Castle, that they always seemed to generate sparks between them, and not the good kind either? Sure, they teased but they also had a tendency to get into stupid spats over essentially nothing too. And she was suddenly tired of it. Tired of it and a little disappointed over it too. Because she couldn't help but wonder what might happen if they ever managed to get over the mutual annoyance thing, avoid the stupid bickering. She and Castle were too different—and each too strong-willed—to be able to coexist without ever disagreeing but there had to be a better way to go about it. Unbidden, she suddenly remembered her parents, the way her mom and dad had occasionally argued too—two lawyers did not make for a tranquil household—but even so, they'd always found common ground, used humor to break the tension, and even for the few more serious disagreements Kate remembered, it had never shaken the bedrock foundation of trust and love between them.

Wait. What was she thinking? Was she actually comparing her relationship with Castle to that of her parents? No. Oh no. No way. She and Castle were not—definitely not—anything like her parents. Absolutely not. Never. That was crazy talk.

But even so, she found her earlier irritation was gone when she sat down and put her phone on speaker so she could eat her dinner while talking to Castle. "Hey Castle, I'm back. Sorry about that. My dinner just arrived."

"Let me guess, Chinese."

She looked at her fried rice and kung pao chicken, a smile tugging on her lips in spite of herself. "Good guess, Castle."

"What can I say, I'm just brilliant that way," he preened and she relaxed as she realized that he was going along with the change of subject and not returning to their earlier interrupted bickering.

"I don't think 'brilliant' is the right word. It's not exactly the theory of relativity," she returned dryly. Maybe they could go back to easy banter.

"Don't belittle my genius," he huffed in mock offense. "You're in New York City, the mecca of food delivery where you can get anything delivered from Ethiopian to Argentinian to Mongolian. If you looked, you could probably get fried tarantula delivered to you."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "See, that's what you should have done with that tarantula on your shoulder a couple months ago, just fried it up and eaten it."

"Ugh." He gave an audible shudder. "Don't be gross, Beckett."

"You're the one who brought it up."

He huffed and she could picture his pout. "Fine, yes, mea culpa."

"Nice Latin there, Writer Boy," she mocked.

He heaved a dramatic, exaggerated sigh. "Your mockery wounds me."

She smirked in the direction of her phone, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "You're the one who called me, Castle. If you wanted flattery, you should try one of your fangirls."

"No, thank you. I think I've had enough of my fangirls for now. At the book signing I did the other day, one of them practically chased me into the men's room."

"You're doing book signings?"

"Yeah, since I finished the first draft of my book, I had some time so Paula arranged for a few. It helps boost pre-sale numbers for the next Nikki Heat book too."

"Why don't you tell me about your book signings while I eat."

"So bossy, Beckett," but it was only a token protest since he did start to talk about his book signings, telling her about the bookstore employee who misspoke during his introduction to introduce Castle as being Derrick Storm, rather than the author of Derrick Storm (and Kate made a jibe about how a cool super-spy like Derrick Storm was nothing like Castle, making Castle splutter with mock outrage) and the fangirl who just _happened_ to trip as she reached the table so she fell forward onto the table, landing so he was almost smothered by her chest (and Kate viciously stomped out the twist of jealousy she had no business feeling).

But the jealousy she was not admitting to feeling aside (and it was ridiculous because from the way he was melodramatically exclaiming over his near-death experience of smothering by silicone, he was not into the fangirl at all), it was just… fun. She found herself laughing out loud more times than she had in the last two weeks plus since he'd left the precinct. And it reminded her that when he wasn't irritating her, she actually did enjoy Castle's company. This was why they were friends. And maybe it was a sign that they should only stay friends because it seemed like this sort of thing, easy banter, was all they could manage because whenever they even started to talk about their personal lives, they ended up bickering and annoyed with each other.

To say nothing of the fact that she couldn't quite imagine that any sort of actual relationship between them would work. She might have decided to accept his invitation to the Hamptons and along with that, the obvious possibility of more developing between them but she hadn't thought further than that. Since then, she'd had more time to think about it and, well, her imagination failed her after picturing a weekend getaway. Because when it came to real, everyday life, she couldn't quite see that she and Castle would be able to make their lives fit, not for any length of time.

She was just a cop, a damaged, lonely cop who wasn't exactly good at relationships. And he was a multimillionaire celebrity who could be with any woman he wanted, was used to dating models and actresses and high society celebutantes, like those who landed on the New York Ledger's Most Eligible Bachelorettes List. Whereas she, as Castle had pointed out, was not and never would be on one of those lists.

They might be physically attracted to each other—she could admit that much—but aside from what she imagined would be (very) hot sex, what else could there be? It would be a fling, at best a sort of friends-with-benefits thing, neither of which was her style. And she couldn't imagine that he would keep on coming into the precinct and working with her after that so she'd have lost not just their friendship but this strange partnership they had formed too. And even though part of her still couldn't quite believe she was thinking this, considering how vehemently she'd protested his shadowing her to begin with, she didn't want to lose their work partnership entirely.

_See you in the fall_, he'd said even as he was walking out of the precinct with Gina—and, well, she was still hoping for just that, that he would be back in the fall.

"And even when I was about to leave, she persisted in following me outside the bookstore too. I thought I might never escape." Castle pitched his voice into something approaching a whine as he finished his tale of woe featuring a beleaguered author—himself—and the too-pushy fan.

Kate choked back a laugh. The man was ridiculous. "It is just so hard to be you, isn't it," she deadpanned dryly.

"Yes, it is, thank you. Your sympathy is appreciated," he pontificated with mock solemnity.

Now she couldn't smother her laugh anymore but it was interrupted by a beep and Kate sighed, making a face as she saw that it was Dispatch.

"Castle, I have to go. It's Dispatch."

"Oh, okay. Good luck with the new case, Beckett."

"Thanks. Night, Castle." She ended the call with Castle and switched to pick up the other call. "Beckett."

She jotted down the address and after hurriedly cleaning up the remains of her dinner and changing into work clothes, she was leaving her apartment within ten minutes.

She nodded a greeting at Espo and Ryan, only to blink a little in surprise as Ryan flashed her an oddly bright smile in response. What was up with him? Ryan might be the one who seemed to be the least affected by all the darkness they saw compared to herself and Esposito but even he didn't normally beam at a crime scene.

"What've we got?" she directed her question at Esposito, noting that he too seemed to be eyeing her a little oddly. Really, what was up with them?

"A hit and run. Vic's name is Matt Giese, 47, according to his driver's license. A couple witnesses described the car as a black or maybe navy four-door but we're still canvassing and going to check traffic cams to try to narrow that down."

She nodded. "Next of kin?"

"Still running that down."

"Okay." She paused, raising her eyebrows at Espo, before she turned away to take a look at the body where Perlmutter was kneeling. "Anything else?"

"Uh, no."

"Then what's with the look?"

Espo shrugged a little. "You're looking surprisingly chipper for someone who was just called out to a crime scene at 10 p.m."

Oh. She was? Huh, she supposed she was. She might not be actually smiling—she was in work mode, after all—but now that she stopped to think, she could tell she wasn't as tense as she had been, the niggling disgruntlement that seemed to have set up a near-constant knot in her temple, gone now. And it was possible that it showed in her expression and she might have—maybe—been a little irritable and short with the boys lately in response to it so they would notice.

"I just had a good dinner, that's all."

"If you say so."

"Whatever helps, with Dr. Killjoy over there," she tossed back, lowering her voice at Perlmutter's nickname so no one else could hear.

Espo gave a grunt of agreement and Kate turned to approach the body, letting the moment sober her, as always.

But even as she went to work, she was aware that there was a little added lift to her spirits, some more energy in her step, that lingered. And not even she could pretend that it had nothing to do with Castle, with the fact that he had called her, and made her laugh the way he usually did. Damn it. She really didn't want him to have such an effect on her—it had just been one phone call!—but somehow, insanely, he did.

_~To be continued…~_


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Posting a day earlier than usual because I won't be able to post on Friday. Enjoy!

**Accidentally in Love**

_Chapter 5_

The next evening, Kate smiled when she saw Castle's name on the caller ID. Smiled, even as she tried to tamp down on the traitorous flutter in her chest. "Beckett," she answered as usual, knowing that her smile was audible in her voice but unable to help it.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey, Castle. To what do I owe the honor this time?" she asked, placing some ironic emphasis on the word 'honor.'

"I just wanted to hear about the new case last night."

"I thought you were done with the first draft so why do you need more inspiration?" she asked more to tease him than because she minded. Honestly, she should have been expecting something like this, that he would call to find out about the case.

"It's not for inspiration. I'm just curious. Come on, Beckett, maybe I could help! Consulting by phone could be a thing, right?"

"I'm not one of Charlie's Angels, Castle," she returned dryly.

"Why?" Castle whined plaintively. "Why must you burst my bubble like that?" he demanded in mock tragic tones.

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I think you'll survive."

"But you'd be the sexiest Charlie's Angel ever."

She flushed, now glad that Castle wasn't here to see her. And it was just so unfair that hearing Castle (again) call her 'sexy' made her insides flutter the way it did. He wasn't even trying, his voice hadn't lowered into the husky tones that did things to her. He was just being teasing. "In your dreams," she retorted.

"You have no idea," he promised and there it was, his voice sliding into the husky register he used to imply all sorts of sexy things. And as usual, she felt a little thrill of reaction prickle through her body like a lightning shock.

She stomped it down. "Behave, Castle. We're still talking about a murder." They were, weren't they? And why did she feel as if she needed to scold her own self quite as much as him?

"I'm the one that wanted to know more about the case. You've been evading."

"Fine, fine, freakish man that you are," she pretended to grumble. "This case is a hit and run. Witnesses identified the car as a dark blue or black four-door sedan."

"Have you looked at traffic cams to narrow it down? Was it stolen? Anyone have any obvious motives to kill the victim?" he asked, the questions coming in rapid-fire style.

"I was getting there if you weren't so impatient."

"My bad. So, did you look at traffic cams to identify the car?"

"I know you might find this shocking but we do actually know how to do our jobs when you're not around," she retorted dryly. "Of course we pulled the traffic cam footage."

"And?"

His tone had that little-boy eagerness she associated with him and she bit back a smile. And had to wonder when she'd started to find his excitable tendencies to be amusing rather than irritating.

"And we identified the car and found it abandoned in an alley."

"Did you find any prints?"

"You know, telling this story would go a lot faster if you didn't interrupt," she told him but couldn't muster any real irritation in her voice.

"My lips are zipped," he said and she could just picture him miming the action and giving one of his over-the-top repentant looks too. "Please continue, Detective." When had she become so familiar with all his expressions that she could picture him so clearly, guess his expression from his tone of voice?

"The steering wheel and the gear shift had been wiped clean. Also we think the driver was wearing gloves."

"But?" he prompted. The man was just not capable of keeping quiet for any length of time, was he?

"But," she picked up on his prompt, ignoring his little crow of triumph, "he hadn't worn gloves when he adjusted the side mirrors and we managed to pull partial prints from those controls. He's in the system from a DUI years ago and an assault charge a couple years back."

"Let me guess, you were the one who suggested the side mirror controls."

She tried not to smile but she felt the little rush of triumph she'd felt earlier when her suggestion had panned out. "What makes you say that?"

He made a sound as if to indicate it was a silly question. "You're the one who once suggested dusting the inside of a glove to get prints, Beckett. Of course you thought of the side mirrors."

There was the other disarming side to Castle, the way he just seemed so… awed by her sometimes. He joked around and annoyed her but when it came down to it, he also respected her. He thought she was extraordinary and sometimes, when he looked at her, his eyes so blue and so serious, so sincere, she could almost believe she was extraordinary.

"It wasn't that big a deal, Castle," she tried to shrug it off.

"Still, it is how you caught the guy, right? Case closed?"

"We found him," she confirmed. "Arrested him but he refused to talk so we know he did it but we have no idea why. We're waiting on his financials and looking into his life to see where it might have intersected with the victim's"

"But you've got his prints in the car. That's enough, isn't it?"

"Yes, but you're the storyteller, Castle. Are you satisfied with that?" she challenged.

"Well, no," he conceded. "I want to know why."

"Exactly, the story that makes everything make sense," she returned, realizing only after the fact that she might have inadvertently quoted his own words back at him.

"Why, Beckett, are you thinking in terms of stories when it comes to solving cases? I'm touched. I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in years."

Ridiculous man. His clowning made it easier for her flush to subside. "Don't feel so flattered, Castle," she managed to interject dryly. "Some might say you're just contagious."

"Tomato, to-mah-to," he dismissed airily. "Admit it, I've had a big impact on your work."

"Steady on the ego there, Castle," she retorted. "Juries like motives too so we've always needed to look for a reason."

"Deny it all you like. I know the truth," he gloated and then sobered in one of those quick tone changes that still startled her, even knowing his butterfly brain. "So what are we thinking for motive, anyway?"

He'd said 'we.' As if they were still working together, as if he really was acting as a consultant by phone. (Why did that please her so much?).

"You're the one with the crazy theories, Castle, so start theorizing." She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when he immediately jumped in with a theory that the victim had been a spy gone rogue and the killer his handler.

"Except we know the victim wasn't a spy," she interjected. "He worked in high-end car sales."

Castle heaved an exaggerated sigh. "That could only be what they want you to think. Don't you know by now that any self-respecting spy would have a cover story down pat?"

She made a derisive noise but as usual, he ignored it and continued to expound on his rogue-spy theory. And she let him because, well, she might not want to admit it to him, but she kind of missed his theorizing, missed having him there to bounce ideas off of. She hadn't quite realized how accustomed she had become to having someone to be a sounding board for any ideas about a case and one who was willing to think outside the box (even too willing). Esposito might be a good cop but he was a by-the-book, black-and-white sort of guy and he didn't much believe in speculating or talking things through. Ryan might be more inclined to speculate but he didn't quite have the same quickness.

It might be what she liked best about Castle or at least, what she'd first started to appreciate about having him around, that he was so quick-witted, more than able to keep up with her when it came to observations and deductions.

And fine, even his often-crazy conspiracy theories had started to grow on her. Not that she would admit it to him.

He moved on to spin another theory that also involved espionage, only of the corporate kind, while she batted his theories back with mild mockery—just like things had been.

Kate curled up on her couch more comfortably, switching her phone to speaker, so she could relax as she listened to him. They tossed theories back and forth until towards the end, even her theories were moving towards far-fetched but it wasn't as if anyone else was ever going to hear these theories and it was just fun. They only stopped when he had to go for another call from Alexis and then Kate was startled to realize that they had actually been on the phone for more than 30 minutes.

God, really? She hadn't spent such a long time talking on the phone since probably high school. When she'd reached college, she hadn't had her own phone and then—well, everything had changed. And since then, she wasn't much for idle chat, certainly not anymore. Lanie was basically the only friend she had to chat with and she and Lanie usually spoke in person because Lanie wasn't big on phone calls either.

So this—talking to someone on the phone for so long—wasn't the sort of thing she did. It was certainly not something she and Castle had ever done and why hadn't it seemed weird at the time? But it hadn't, really, since they'd been talking about the case and that, at least, was normal for them. So that was really all this had been, just about work, because they were work colleagues and, she supposed, work friends. No different than she and the boys, really.

So she told herself and valiantly tried to believe it was true.

* * *

She and the boys were able to close the case the next day, their digging into the victim's life providing them with a motive that eventually led to the real killer behind the whole plot, and Kate told herself it would only be polite to call Castle and tell him about the case. Polite, right, that was the word. Because they had talked about the case and she knew without his saying so that he would be curious about the actual outcome. And they were colleagues and friends, so that was really all it was.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

But she couldn't help the warmth in her cheeks when he answered, his voice sounding smooth and deep and—what the hell was she thinking? "Why, Detective, this is an unexpected pleasure. Are you calling because you need more of my helpful insights on the case?"

His display of egotism prodded her. "No, actually, I'm calling to tell you that you were wrong."

There was a beat of silence and she wondered with a sinking feeling if she'd been too blunt. Had that sounded mean rather than teasing? They might mock each other but it was always good-humored and it occurred to her that this sort of thing was harder to gauge over the phone.

But then he gave a crack of laughter and she relaxed, smiling now. Silly to worry so. One of the things she liked about Castle so much was his ability to laugh at himself. For all his displays of ego, he didn't actually take himself that seriously.

"I was wrong? I'm shocked," he declared. "When did this unprecedented event in human history occur?"

She bit back a laugh. "The victim in our latest case was not a spy."

"You closed the case then?"

"Yeah, we did."

"And you're calling to tell me the story of the case? That's so thoughtful since you know my weakness for a good narrative."

She bit her lip, heat rising to her cheeks in spite of his facetiousness because he wasn't entirely wrong. She had thought of Castle and decided to call him.

"Lower your expectations. I'm not a storyteller, remember, you are," she returned, trying to sound dry.

"Oh, I think you sell yourself short so tell me the story, Detective."

She didn't know how a grown man could manage to sound so much like a little boy sometimes.

"Well, it turns out the victim, Matt Giese, was not a very nice guy," she began, her voice automatically pitching itself to a storytelling tone, as if she really were telling this as a story to a child. "He and a co-worker of his, Frank Weissman, were rivals for an upcoming promotion and the victim essentially set out to sabotage Frank."

"Sabotage!" Castle exclaimed. "Oh, this is getting awesome already."

Yeah, definitely child-like.

"Anyway," she went on with some emphasis, "as I mentioned, the victim worked in high-end car sales and he basically stole credit for some sales that Frank had actually been the one to do most of the work for, so the victim cheated to pad his sales numbers. And he didn't stop there," she went on, getting more into the spirit of telling a story.

"Good use of narration to ratchet up the suspense," Castle interjected.

She bit back a smile. "Are you the audience or the editor of this story?"

"Audience. I'm listening, I promise!"

"The victim also bribed one of the assistants to give Frank the wrong time for a staff meeting so Frank showed up late for the meeting. Plus he started making loud comments, always when the supervisor happened to be passing by, that made it sound like Frank was complaining about work and, of course, casting himself as the defender of their boss."

"So Frank had the victim killed," Castle jumped in again.

She should have known Castle would get too into the story to be able to stay completely quiet. "No, actually, wrong again. There's another twist in the story."

"Even better. I love plot twists."

She smiled, almost in spite of herself. "I know you do and you'll probably enjoy this one. So Frank went home one day and was venting to his wife about all the trouble that the victim was causing him and how, if only the victim wasn't around, he would be a lock for the promotion and things would be so much better."

"Ooh," Castle drew the word out in comprehension. "And the wife took him literally."

"Yeah, you guessed it."

Castle gave a little triumphant crow. "Oh, that's amazing! I mean, well, no, it's terrible and obviously the wife has issues but well, this is great. Such a 'who will rid me of this troublesome priest?' moment."

She had to laugh. "I was thinking that too."

"Of course you were. It's practically about a relative of yours, after all. Thomas Becket, Kate Beckett. I've been waiting years for a chance to make a reference to the other Beckett!"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you have been. Well, now you've had your chance. Happy now?"

"You have no idea," he gloated and she could just picture the smug grin on his face. "Oh, wait, I have another question. How was Lady Macbeth connected to the driver who actually committed the hit and run? After all, it's not like you can just take out an ad on Craigslist for someone who's willing to commit murder."

"It turns out that the driver went to high school with Kelly Weissman. They even dated for a while and the driver appears to have retained something of a soft spot for her."

"That's so sweet," he commented sarcastically.

She couldn't help but smile. "Before you give him any credit for being the most generous ex ever, she also promised to pay him $50,000, half up front and half within a week after the job was done."

"You know, that's what I like about murderers; they're all so predictably mercenary," he joked. "Somehow it all seems to come down to money."

That was unfortunately true. There was a reason that detective work so often came down to the simple question, _cui bono_. "I'm shocked, Castle," she drawled. "Are you, a mystery writer, saying that crime solving is predictable?"

"I have it on good authority that when it comes down to it, there are basically only three reasons for someone to commit murder, money, passion, or to cover up a crime. But when it comes down to mysteries in books, I like to think it's about the journey, not the destination, as such. Figuring out 'whodunnit' is important, obviously, but it's about the process, how you get there, that makes it interesting."

Kate felt a little thrill ripple through her. By now, it shouldn't surprise her that Castle could be serious and thoughtful but somehow, it still did. He was so often silly and immature and cracking dumb jokes but then he would say something like this and she would be reminded, again, that there was a reason she liked his books so much. Something about the way his mind worked appealed to her, the way he thought about things.

"You're a little freakish for being so fascinated by crimes, you know," she quipped, taking refuge in humor as usual.

He laughed and she smiled, ridiculously pleased (stupidly so) to have been able to make him laugh. "Being normal is boring."

"And of course you'd never want to be boring."

"I'm a writer. Being boring is quite possibly the worst insult you can throw at me."

"Well, there are so many other words I could think of to describe you."

"And some of them might not be insults?" he returned.

She smirked. "Maybe, if you're lucky."

"I'm always lucky, Beckett."

She knew—knew—it wasn't what he meant but her wayward brain translated his words into his undoubted ability to "get lucky." With Ellie Monroe, with Gina. With who knew what other women he might have met since Gina had left. The thought acted like a bucket of cold water, this reminder that she really had no idea what Castle was doing out there in the Hamptons now that he was done with his book, and clearly he wasn't interested in coming back to the precinct. And he'd been doing book signings so he had, no doubt, been surrounded by doting fans, even aside from the one he'd complained to her about, so he would have had opportunities.

"So I spent my day putting together the evidence to solve this case," she said, abruptly, inwardly writhing at how awkward this was. Was she really this bad at just talking? "How did you spend your day?"

"I read, spent some time in the pool, arranged a couple more book signings for next week. Oh, and I went grocery shopping."

A laugh escaped her at this unexpected conclusion. Grocery shopping—it was such an incongruously mundane task to imagine Castle doing. "Wow, Castle, I was expecting something that sounded like it came straight out of 'Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.'"

"Even the rich and famous need to eat. Anyway, I generally prefer to keep a low profile while I'm out here. Although I am supposed to go to a party tomorrow."

"That sounds like fun," she managed to say. A party out in the Hamptons, which would no doubt be thrown by one of Castle's super-rich friends, on a yacht or something equally ostentatious. And she could just picture Castle, looking disgustingly handsome in one of his nice suits—and flirting with any number of nubile, gorgeous women.

A cold sensation that she refused to call jealousy slithered through her.

"Well, I do enjoy a good party," he said lightly. "Plus I'm hoping it'll be enough to distract me from the fact that I'll be spending Father's Day alone for the first time since Alexis was born." His voice shifted, became sober, at the mention of his daughter.

And Kate abruptly felt a little tug of something like shame. It was no business of hers what Castle was doing out in the Hamptons and no doubt he would be moping to spend Father's Day without Alexis.

"Oh, Alexis isn't going to be visiting for Father's Day?"

"She offered but I told her she didn't need to because I'll be seeing her in a couple weeks for the Fourth of July anyway. I don't want to be constantly taking her away from her friends just because I'm missing her like crazy."

Damn it. He made it so hard to resist him sometimes. It was so… endearing, the way he loved Alexis and tried to do right by her. And how was she supposed to get over him if he kept showing her this side of him?

"I know she'll call though and she sent a card that I got today, telling me that she already got me my gift but will wait to give it to me because she wants to see my face when I open it," he added, more cheerfully. "Besides, I won't really have time to mope too much. Paula's been on my back to do more publicity, as always, so I'm going up to Boston and then Chicago for a few days next week to do book signings."

"Sounds like you'll be racking up your frequent flier miles. Do you always travel so much in the summers?" she asked, suddenly curious. And it was a little dispiriting too because it was another reason why he probably had no intention of returning to the precinct before the fall. How could he if he was constantly jet-setting to book signings?

"You could say that. I didn't use to travel much even in the summers when Alexis was really young because I didn't feel comfortable bringing her to signings with me but once she got older, I travelled more, but only in the summer so Alexis could come with me or when my mother could watch Alexis."

"Wow, Castle, listen to you, dealing with work-life balance just like someone who actually works for a living," she quipped.

And then she felt a pinch of remorse because she knew Castle actually did work; no one could have written as many books as he had and of the quality that his books were, without putting a lot of time and effort into it. But Castle only laughed. "Don't tell anyone; I have a reputation as a layabout to protect."

"Your secret's safe with me, Castle."

"Thank you."

She grinned into the phone and the conversation easily shifted to other topics, with her asking about Alexis and Martha while Castle asked about the boys and Captain Montgomery and LT and a few other cops. But soon enough, Castle said he had to go because he had an incoming call from Black Pawn. It occurred to her with a little twist of her insides that it might be Gina—but he had broken up with her already. Anyway, she didn't care and it was no business of hers what he did.

Sure, try again, Kate, her inner voice commented sarcastically.

She ignored it and in any event, it didn't matter because they'd already ended the call.

But it occurred to her to wonder what exactly they were doing with these phone calls. They were just talking, really, and they were friends, sort of, but they'd never called each other just to talk before and now, she didn't know what was going on. He'd left her—the precinct, she corrected herself, not for the first time—but he'd broken up with Gina. But he could be going out on dates with other women; he was Richard Castle, who practically had women lining up to fall over him.

Of course, after this call, now that this case she'd told him about was closed, he might not even call again so she might be making a big deal out of nothing.

Would he call again? Did she want him to call again? (_Yes._)

It occurred to her she really hated how Castle seemed to be able to turn her into a teenage girl. At this rate, she'd start plucking flower petals to find out—_he likes me. He likes me not. _

Ugh, no, she was not doing this.

If he called again, well, she would deal with that if and when it happened. And in the meantime, she was just fine without him. Really, she was.

_~To be continued…~_

_A/N 2: I won't be able to post next week as I'll be traveling so apologies in advance for the longer-than-usual wait until the next chapter. _


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Apologies for the wait but I'm back now and can resume posting. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 6_

Castle threw himself into a chair in his hotel suite, his eyes flitting around the suite and then out the window providing a panoramic view of Lake Michigan—or at least he knew it would in the daytime. At night, not so much.

He'd used to enjoy these book tours more. Not the being away from Alexis part, obviously, but he had liked going to new cities and meeting new fans. Between his marriages, he'd had some one night stands with women he'd met at his book signings. He'd had fun.

Now, he wouldn't say he was enjoying himself.

Paula's indefatigable efforts to get his name out there had resulted in her arranging for him to have dinner with some of Chicago's bigwigs, some local politicians, a few random celebrities who lived in the city, some super-rich businessmen. The sort of gathering of local luminaries at one of the city's best restaurants that practically guaranteed a mention in the local papers. So he'd spent the last couple hours pretending to listen to the dronings of one of the rich men who had pretensions to politics and had spent the dinner expatiating on his theories of criminal reform and at the same time, fending off the attempts at flirtation of a vapid and bored socialite wife of another one of the businessmen. He would be the first to admit that he hadn't always required much intelligence in the women he flirted with but even if she hadn't been married, he found that his tolerance for empty-headed women had eroded.

And then, inevitably, he found himself thinking about Beckett. Again. Beckett, who was so different from the socialite at dinner they might as well have been members of a different species.

He idly wondered if Beckett had ever been to Chicago—and if she had, what she thought of it. He liked the city, appreciated its beauty, the architecture and its skyline, although it didn't affect his love and loyalty for New York City. If Beckett hadn't been to Chicago, maybe she'd want to come with him sometime. He came here on a fairly regular basis for book signings after—wait. What was he thinking? He and Beckett travelling together? Beckett wouldn't—that was nowhere close to what their relationship was or would ever be, as far as he knew. It was a pipe dream, a fantasy, and one he should put right out of his head, he told himself.

He really needed to stop doing that, stop getting ahead of himself in their relationship, friendship.

So they had talked on the phone a couple times and yes, she had broken up with Demming but she hadn't shown any real signs of being interested in him, Castle, before, aside from the physical magnetism between them, and still didn't.

And yet… hope really did spring eternal because he couldn't help but remember that Beckett had, well, talked to him. She had stayed on the phone with him for quite a while and laughed and bantered and exchanged theories with him. And he hadn't known Beckett for so long without realizing that she wasn't much for idle chatter. He couldn't see her spending hours on the phone just to chat—not like Alexis or his mother. But she hadn't cut their calls short, had seemed perfectly willing—even happy, he almost dared to think—to talk to him.

He might be making a mountain out of a molehill—incurable optimist that he was—but he couldn't help but think it meant _something_. Not that she cared about him—he wasn't that hopeful—but that maybe she missed him a little. And she had told him months ago that he made her work more fun. She hadn't wanted him to leave. He remembered the moment, the softness in her eyes and her smile, and he could almost think knowing she wanted him to stick around might be enough for him. Okay, not nearly enough but it was something.

Ugh, he hadn't felt this unsure of himself over a woman in something like 20 years but here he was, dithering over Beckett. He made a face. It was just so… terrifying, being so conscious of the inequality in their feelings, that he was in love with her while she… tolerated him, liked him as a friend? Okay, so he did believe that they were friends but beyond that, his confidence failed him.

He needed to take things slowly, rein in his usual impatience. One good thing about being alone so much this summer was that it had given him plenty of time to think—think about Beckett—and he'd realized he needed to go slower, be more careful. Beckett was skittish. She wasn't a sharer, as Ryan had so rightly pointed out, and she didn't trust easily. He remembered what he'd realized watching Beckett calm Chloe Richardson enough to disarm her after the nanny case, that she'd been hurt. Hurt by a man, to be more specific, not just because of her mom's death. Possibly by Sorenson—Castle scowled at the innocent picture on the wall.

And that aside, he had already hurt Beckett once when he'd looked into her mom's case without her permission. She'd forgiven him for that but it still didn't mean Beckett would be willing to trust him, let him in any further, at least not that easily. And Castle had to admit, he hadn't given Beckett much reason to believe he was actually serious about her. He'd slept with Ellie Monroe, even flirted with Beckett's old friend, Maddy, and then after Beckett had rejected his invitation to the Hamptons, he had stupidly jumped right into bed with Gina. Looking at it that way, not even he would believe he was that serious about Beckett. So he needed to do better, prove himself. Prove that he was serious, prove he really wasn't that big of a jackass, prove that he really did care about Beckett.

He thought—hoped—the phone calls were a start. They were talking and teasing again and he had to admit that he really loved hearing Beckett's voice over the phone, the faint distance because of the phone line adding an extra mystery to her tone, or maybe that was because he couldn't see her expression to help him decipher her tone. Besides, he always liked the sound of Beckett's voice, the sound of her laugh.

He missed her. As usual. He wanted to talk to her.

He pulled out his cell phone, pausing to look at the picture of her smiling face that he had surreptitiously taken one day and made her profile picture. And before he could second-guess himself, he tapped his finger to her name on the screen to call her.

* * *

Kate finished her dinner quickly and then, not quite able to help it, ventured into the separate enclosed area that functioned as her office/library. She was fine, not drowning, still in control, she told herself again as she opened up the window shutters to see the murder board she had begun. Her mother's murder board. Her gaze arrowed in on her mother's picture, then swivelled to the post-it asking "Who hired Dick Coonan?" The question haunted her. But she was reminded, again, that no matter what happened—even if she found out who was behind it all—her mother would still be gone.

She sighed, shutting her eyes against the prick of stupid tears, feeling the melancholy she'd been fighting all day crashing over her. Damn it.

She was used to being alone, even liked it for the most part, but sometimes, she couldn't help but think that it might be nice to have someone else around. Someone to distract her or cheer her up. Just… someone.

She started a little as her phone rang and for a split second, she wondered if her thoughts had somehow made this happen—but that was crazy. Even if she had been thinking of him, sort of, it wasn't anything.

But even so, she found her spirits unaccountably lifting—he was calling her again—making it easier to answer with moderate cheerfulness. "Hey, Castle."

"Hey. You're not still at the precinct, are you?"

"No, I'm at home. So how was your trip?" It had been a few days—four because, yes, she'd been counting—since they had talked so she assumed he must be back from his trip.

"Actually, I'm still on it. I'm in Chicago right now."

"Oh." Why oh why did the idea of him being thousands of miles away seem so much more lowering than his simply being in the Hamptons? "So when will you be coming back then?"

"Not for another couple days, actually. I agreed to let Paula extend my trip if she agreed that this would be the last time I'd need to travel before the next book comes out. So I'm heading to Milwaukee tomorrow and then over to the Twin Cities for a couple signings and then I'll be going back. I'll probably be getting the edits back on the first draft of the next book in the next week or two so after that I'll need to work and Paula eventually agreed."

"You don't sound terribly thrilled to be on such an extended trip, Castle," she observed. "I would have thought you'd love this sort of thing, jetting off to new cities, seeing new places, meeting new fans all the time.

"I do enjoy these trips—or at least, I used to enjoy them." He paused and then went on, "I don't know what it is but this time around, it's not as much fun."

"Tired of the celebrity treatment? Jaded from being lionized too much?" she asked lightly.

"Have I mentioned that I love your vocabulary? Lionized, good word."

"I can think of a couple other words. Evasion, equivocation, circumvention," she offered teasingly.

"Touché, Detective. I guess I have gotten a little jaded."

"You want something new and different to happen at one of your book signings?"

He laughed abruptly, and she blinked. She hadn't been trying to be humorous. "Care to share the joke with the class, Castle? I didn't think I'd said anything funny."

"You just reminded me of something."

"Care to be a little more vague?" she quipped.

She swore she could hear his grin somehow. "You'll understand when I tell you the story. The last time something really new and different happened at a publicity event. It was at the _Storm Fall_ book launch party, remember?"

"It rings a bell," she answered dryly. Of course she remembered. The day she'd really met him—her favorite living author—and taken him in almost instant dislike. Funny, it seemed so… distant to remember that now, as if it had been ages ago. Or had happened to some other people. How had she gone from disliking him to, well, not disliking him at all? Even having experienced it, it seemed a little strange to think of and remember. Everything had changed. Okay, not everything—she'd been attracted to him then too. That hadn't changed. And fine, he could still annoy her. Could still be smug and a wiseass. And he was still a good father. So maybe he hadn't changed. Maybe it was only that she had changed, somehow. Learned to see and appreciate his good qualities and become less irritated by the bad ones.

"So, at the _Storm Fall_ book launch party, I was talking, well, sort of complaining a little to Alexis about being bored because everyone seemed to always say the same things—you're my favorite author, where do you get your ideas, I've read all your books—"

"I get the idea," she cut his little litany of compliments short.

"Yes, well, so I said to Alexis that just once, I wished someone would come up to me and say something different and…" He paused.

"And?" she prompted, rolling her eyes a little. Such a drama queen.

"And my entire life changed forever," he went on. Yeah, definitely a drama queen. "At that moment, I heard my name and I turned and a woman said… that she wanted to talk to me about a murder that had been committed."

She blinked. He was talking about her? "You're talking about me? I changed your life forever?" She felt a stupid, unruly flutter in her chest.

"Of course," he answered promptly, his voice dropping from its melodramatic tones and slipping into sincerity in an instant. "You inspired me to write Nikki Heat and you let me work with you and working with you has been a great, meaningful experience for me."

His use of the past tense bothered her. He made it sound as if it was over. "You're still coming back in the fall, aren't you?" she blurted out before she could hold the words back. And then inwardly writhed at how… needy, how vulnerable, the question sounded. Ugh, she didn't do needy.

"I said I would. Why? Don't you want me to?"

"Why would it be up to me?" she retorted, her pride rebelling. "It's not like I asked you to start shadowing me in the first place so you can do whatever you want."

"You don't have to martyr yourself on Nikki Heat's account," he shot back.

She snorted, irritated now. "Yeah, right, because having the Mayor on speed dial really gives me a lot of choice. And you're obviously so good at doing what I tell you to, like all the times you stayed in the car. Oh, wait, you never just stay in the car."

"Well, sorry for inflicting my presence on you. I don't have to come back."

"Fine with me," she bit out.

"Fine then."

There was a beat of silence and she fully expected to hear the sound that indicated he had hung up but she didn't hear it. What she did hear was a faint sigh. He wasn't hanging up.

"Why aren't you hanging up?" she blurted out, inanely.

"You're not hanging up."

What was this, a competition to see who held out longer? The absurdity of it suddenly struck her and effectively acted as a bucketful of cold water, dousing any lingering embers of irritation. And leaving her a little… ashamed. Oh damn.

It was her turn to sigh, briefly lifting a hand to cover her face. "This is dumb. We keep doing this, don't we, sniping at each other."

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm good at annoying people."

"No, Castle." Irrationally, his willingness to take the blame made her contradict him. "It was me. I was irritable and I took it out on you."

"I could have been smarter though. I didn't need to push back."

"Sorry, Castle. I just… it was a long day. And we had a tough case," she found herself admitting before she'd fully realized she was going to. And maybe it was partly because she'd been thinking of him all day today, missing him. (More than usual, even.) Kept thinking that it would have been… better, easier, if he had been around today. To lighten the mood with a quip or even just to get her coffee. But he hadn't been—and she didn't like realizing just how accustomed she had really become to having him around.

"A tough case?" he asked with immediate interest. "Why was it tough? Is it complicated?"

She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull, she thought with weary sort of resignation, even some amusement. "No, it was completely straightforward, one of those garden-variety ones. We already closed the case. It was the victim's ex-boyfriend."

"Jack shot Jill over Bill," he offered, the cop shorthand slipping from his lips glibly. It had been Espo's comment too.

"Yeah, pretty much." She made a face. "I hate these types of cases."

"Yeah, me too."

"Too boring for you?" she jibed mildly.

"Well, yes, that too, but mostly it's because they're so… unnecessary. They're sordid and pointless."

"It's not like most murders serve a higher purpose, Castle," she observed dryly. Basically every murder was sordid. But she did understand what he meant. Even murders where the killer stood to gain in some way, whether monetary or not, seemed to have more purpose. This sort of killing was the purest form of futility and, yes, stupidity.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, Castle. But actually, that's not what made this case tough."

"What was it then?"

She couldn't quite believe she was going to tell him this—since when did she really confide in Castle—and yet at that moment, she didn't hesitate. She trusted him. (Huh. She really did.) "The victim—she had the same birthday as my mom."

"Ohh," he drew the word out in immediate comprehension. "Beckett…"

He hesitated for a moment and she hurriedly inserted, "I know, Castle. It's just a coincidence and it's silly of me to overreact like this to something so meaningless. I've been telling myself that all day but well, I keep thinking about my mom."

"Actually, that wasn't what I was going to say."

Ridiculously, her lips twitched a little. She wasn't even sure why but something about his contradiction made her feel oddly better. Castle could still surprise her, keep her on her toes. And she kind of liked that about him.

"Oh. What were you going to say?"

His voice was entirely sober, sincere, as he answered, "I was going to say that sometimes I forget that you live with this every day."

Oh. She wasn't sure why that got to her but it did. Maybe it was just his tone. It still surprised her whenever Castle showed his serious, compassionate side. The one that reminded her that he was the author who wrote about the victims in his books with respect, even the ones who may not have been the most admirable characters.

"Sorry," he hurriedly added. "I know that's not helpful."

"No, it's okay, Castle. I get what you mean." And it occurred to her that she liked it too. She understood by now that her mom's death had changed her in ways she would never fully recover from. But Castle, even knowing about her mom—and her dad's past issues—didn't see her as a victim. It wasn't only that he didn't treat her as a victim—he didn't and she appreciated it—but he honestly didn't view her as a victim. She had never liked pity and never wanted it but one thing she had hated, almost the thing she might have hated the most after her mom's death, had been the way the people in her life started to look at her and treat her differently. She could admit that most people had been well-intentioned and may not have deliberately set out to make her feel like some pitiful creature but at the time, it was how so much of the sympathy had come across and she had hated it. It was part of the reason why, in the years after that, at the Academy and on, she hadn't told many people about her mom. Oh, she knew other cops would have gossiped—Castle had been right when he'd said that under normal circumstances, women like her didn't end up being cops—but it would have been speculation because she generally didn't tell people about her mom.

Even Will had sometimes strayed too close to the edge of pity in the way he acted around her after she told him.

But not Castle. It occurred to her that Castle had never acted that way around her. Even when he had pried into her mom's case, even when she had told him about how close she came to drowning in her mom's case, he hadn't treated her as a victim. She'd been furious with him for prying and again for the way he had boldly asked her if she was afraid of going back down the rabbit hole—but in all that, it occurred to her that the one thing Castle had never done was treat her as a victim, someone who needed to be protected from further harm.

Funny, that aspect of it had never occurred to her before. Even crazier to feel almost… grateful to Castle, belatedly, for something that had, at the time, made her so hurt and so angry, had wounded her more deeply than she'd ever cared to admit. But somehow, it was true. He had known it would hurt her—he was too intelligent, too emotionally astute, not to realize that—but he had still told her what he'd found out. It didn't excuse his prying in the first place but he'd apologized for that and she'd forgiven him but now, it also occurred to her to appreciate the mere fact that he hadn't tried to shield her from the truth. Castle had never seen her as a victim and that meant something.

"Beckett? Did my phenomenally useless response leave you dumbstruck?"

She belatedly realized how long she'd been silent at Castle's question and managed a faint smile. How did he manage to make her smile so easily? "I'm still here. I was just thinking."

"About your mom," he guessed and it wasn't really a question.

About him, actually, but she wasn't about to admit that to him. "Basically," she temporized.

She swore she could feel his hesitation across the phone line, sense it somehow in the brief pause, and she could certainly hear the uncharacteristic diffidence in his voice when he began, "You can tell me to shut up if I'm overstepping but I was thinking…"

He paused again and finally, she prompted him. "You were thinking?"

"Have you considered, maybe, looking into Dick Coonan's past? There might be a financial trail to follow or… something." He trailed off lamely but she understood what he was carefully indicating, that he had not started looking himself so he didn't know what was out there.

"I've thought about it," she answered cautiously. She looked up at the makeshift murder board on her shutters, the other victims beside her mom, and the various connections between them. And what wasn't on the murder board too because she had already pulled the paperwork to request Dick Coonan's financial records. She hadn't submitted it yet but she planned to.

"Okay. Well, I guess, you know where to find me." He left it at that, not outright offering help. He was being so careful. She remembered again what he'd said during the Jack Coonan case: _I will do anything that you need, including nothing, if that's what you want. _

She knew he would too. He had given $100,000 of his own money without batting an eye on what he had to know was a long shot at getting her mom's killer. And she knew if she asked, he would do it again, put every resource and every connection he had at her disposal. (What had she ever done to deserve such generosity?)

She looked at her murder board again, hesitating, but couldn't bring herself to tell him about it. Not then, not yet. No one knew about this. Not Espo or Ryan, not the Captain, certainly not her dad. Anyway, there was nothing to tell. She had barely started it, just compiling what little information she had. There was nothing new; she hadn't even started really looking for anything new yet, like requesting all of Dick Coonan's financials.

And she didn't want to tell him over the phone.

"I do know that, Castle." She paused and then added, spontaneously, "Thanks."

"Always." The word, the seriousness of it, made her heart flutter and there was a brief silence which he finally broke as he went on brightly, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, "Did you know that if you put 23 people in a room, you have a 50% chance that two of those people will share the same birthday? And if you put 40 people in a room, you're basically guaranteed that two people will share a birthday."

"Yes, I've heard that," she found herself smiling. Such a random thing for him to say but so perfectly Castle.

"Oh." He sounded a little disappointed that he hadn't surprised her but of course, he wasn't that easily quenched. "Then, did you know that more people have birthdays in August than any other month and on any given day, at least 15 million people are celebrating their birthdays?"

Now, she laughed. "Birthday trivia, Castle?"

"For now. I don't know if you know this about me but I am a master of trivia."

"It doesn't surprise me at all that you know a lot of useless information," she quipped.

"You mock now but just wait until you get involved in a game of Trivial Pursuit and then you'll be begging me to be on your team," he boasted.

"Don't hold your breath for that," she advised him dryly but she was smiling, her melancholy from earlier completely gone now.

Maybe that was his true talent, cheering her up, making her smile. It was certainly what she'd kept thinking all day and now he was proving it.

"Look at my life, Beckett, my dreams come true," he told her airily.

"Sure, but I still wouldn't bet on me calling on your help for Trivial Pursuit."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Must you always be such a skeptic?"

"I'm a detective, Castle; it comes with the job description."

"Ryan isn't," he shot back immediately.

Point taken. "Ryan's the exception that proves the rule."

"I never understood that expression. Shouldn't an exception disprove the rule? It's not really a rule if there are all sorts of exceptions to it, is it? But I suppose it could be because it's a less-common use of the word 'prove' and it means 'test' or something, like proving grounds. Or it could just be an extension of the Latin origin phrase where inferences are to be made from what's not said. Have you ever wondered where the phrase comes from?"

She rolled her eyes but a smile was tugging on her lips. "Are you expecting a response? You seem to be enjoying the sound of your own voice quite a bit." The man talked nonsense but, well, he was kind of fun to listen to.

"You didn't shut me up so you can't mind that much."

"I was just being polite," she claimed but suspected he could hear her smile in her voice, betraying her.

"You are the soul of courtesy, Beckett," he said with mock formality. "Hey, I just realized," he went on with a complete change in tone, "should I let you go? It's getting late there and you've had a long day and knowing you, you're going to be up at the crack of dawn."

"I'm a grown-up. I don't have a curfew," she pointed out wryly.

"Still, you don't need to stay up late listening to me talk nonsense."

"Who said I was listening?" she parried.

"You mock me when I try to be considerate?" he huffed, pretending outrage.

She couldn't help but snicker. "I couldn't resist, you set it up so nicely."

"If you're just going to insult me…"

She smirked but desisted, for now. "You have a point, though, I probably should be going."

"Good night, Beckett."

"Night." She paused. "Hey Castle?"

"What?"

"I don't mind if you keep pulling my pigtails," she blurted out, not quite evenly. She couldn't quite bring herself to say outright that she wanted him to come back but she did. He was a writer; he could read between the lines, couldn't he? And she had already told him that working with him had been a lot of fun—even if the memory made her cringe a little because of how the moment had been wrecked by the appearance of Gina, forever tainting her admission with hurt and humiliation.

"Okay," was all he said but then added, "thanks," and then in a clear attempt to be humorous although for once, it didn't quite make it, "I'm not that easy to get rid of, anyway."

He was going to come back. She smiled, one hand stupidly, thoughtlessly, coming up to play with the ends of her hair. "Yeah, okay," she said inanely. "Well, good night, then."

"Good night."

And then, finally, the call ended, leaving her smiling, feeling a ridiculous little tendril of warmth in her chest that lingered until she went to bed.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing!


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: This conversation ended up somewhat differently than I planned but I think it works. I will leave it to you to decide if you agree.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 7_

It was another couple days before Kate talked to Castle again. A couple days in which she, again, found herself thinking about Castle far too often for her peace of mind only this time, at least, thoughts of Castle weren't also accompanied by the niggling twist of hurt and jealousy at the reminder of Gina.

Of course, she reminded herself, she still didn't really know what was going on with her and Castle. It could just be nothing more than their usual friendship, of sorts. Friends talked on the phone.

She and the boys had just closed a double homicide of a husband and wife the day before so today had been a paperwork day. A long day, in the way that paperwork days always were even if they were shorter in actual hours and allowed her to leave the precinct at a reasonable hour. She even got home and ate her dinner before it was fully dark outside, which was a rare enough occurrence in the summer to make it noteworthy. She idly flipped through the channels on TV but didn't come across anything she particularly felt like watching. And because she was bored—and fine, because she had been thinking about him and missing him, a little—she picked up her phone and called Castle. (What, they were friends and she was allowed to call a friend. It didn't have to mean anything more than that.)

"Beckett, hi!" For all her vaunted nonchalance about calling, she felt heat rise in her cheeks at the sound of his voice, how… delighted he sounded to hear from her. "This is a nice surprise."

"Hey, Castle. I was just calling to see how you're enjoying the life of an itinerant celebrity."

He gave a brief, appreciative chuckle. "Itinerant, good word. But actually, I'm back in the Hamptons now. I just got back this afternoon, in fact, and now, I'll go no more a roving," he warbled and then added with a change of tone, "at least until after the next book comes out."

She found herself smiling, leaning back on her couch. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you're neatly avoiding the mention of the next book's title, which I haven't forgotten and I'm still not happy about," she needled.

"It's not my fault," he defended. "Black Pawn wanted it!"

"Uh huh," she responded dryly. "And how hard did you fight with them about it?"

"Uh…"

She smirked. Yeah, that was what she'd figured. Not at all.

"Can I plead the Fifth on that?" he ventured hopefully.

"For a crime against my reputation? I'll think about it."

"It's not really your reputation," he tried. "As you've told me before, you're not Nikki Heat."

"I'm sure the gossip and rumor mills will be sure to make that point clear, since they're always so good about sticking to the truth," she said sardonically.

"I'm sorry?"

He sounded sheepish rather than sarcastic and because of that, she couldn't muster up any real irritation. Because she knew, to be fair, that while she didn't like the added amount of gossip she got over Nikki Heat, it wasn't Castle's fault. She'd already faced plenty of salacious and sexist comments and gossip over the years just by virtue of being a female cop and that had nothing to do with Castle and wasn't going to go away either.

And as for the naked woman silhouette on the covers, well, she did know enough about the publishing industry to know that authors got very little say over the covers of their books.

"You should be sorry," she returned but her tone was humorous rather than serious.

"Too bad I'm all out of sackcloth and ashes," he quipped. Yeah, he'd understood. "So, are you calling because you need more of my helpful insights on a case?"

She bit her lip. Oh yeah, she probably should have come up with an excuse to call him. "This might shock you to hear but actually, we solved our last case without any of your help so today was just a paperwork day."

"Oh, so you didn't need my help at all since I don't do paperwork." Being Castle, he sounded smug at this rather than apologetic.

She relaxed a little. "Yeah, it's really quite something how your willingness to help the NYPD just vanishes when it comes to paperwork."

"Hey, it's not only my fault. I'm not actually a cop so it's not like I'd really be allowed to sign off on the paperwork you guys do."

He had a point. Not that she would admit it to him. "You could help even if you don't sign the forms. The data entry parts should be easy enough for you to do."

"But you cops must have all sorts of special police codes or jargon to use," he tried.

She snorted. "It's filling out forms, Castle. All you really need to know is how to write and type and last I checked, you claim to be something of an expert at both those things."

"I don't think the Captain would see it that way."

"You could try volunteering and see," she suggested.

"So why did you call me, Beckett?" he asked quickly, in an obvious bid to change the subject. She should have known he wasn't going to be that easily diverted. He was easily distractible, yes, but he was also surprisingly persistent.

"Oh, I was just calling to let you know how your coffee machine was doing in your absence," she managed lightly. And lamely. Note to self: come up with a better excuse next time. (And why was she assuming there would be a next time? An inner voice spoke up sarcastically. _Try again, Kate, of course there's going to be a next time._)

"Why, Beckett, that's so sweet. I was a little worried how much of a hard time you cops might be giving Eve."

She sputtered a little. "Eve? You gave the coffee machine a name?"

"Of course," he said, as if this was a totally normal thing to do.

"And you came up with Eve? Why?"

"Because cops treat coffee like it has special life-giving properties and since the coffee machine produces the life-giving liquid, I thought Eve would be an appropriate moniker as the progenitor of all humankind."

"Uh huh. And you decided that the coffee machine was female, why?"

He made a sound as if she'd just asked what year it was. "All machines are female, don't you know?"

The man was ridiculous. And possibly certifiably insane. "Oh really? Why is that?"

"Because, like machines, women are also complex beings with internal workings that no man can fully understand. And also like machines, we usually don't appreciate all the work that they do or treat them properly but they still do amazing things and without them, the world would fall apart," he explained glibly.

She had to laugh at this entirely Castle-like piece of reasoning. "You're a little crazy, you know that."

"So I've been told."

"I bet. So speaking of women, Castle, how are the women in your life?"

"The wom—there are no—uh, what?"

His discombobulated response had her smirking, even as she felt a little renegade spurt of pleasure because it meant that he couldn't be dating anyone to react like that. "I meant Alexis and Martha, Castle, get your mind out of the gutter."

He gave an awkward little chuckle. "Oh right. Well, my mother is fine, last I heard. She's not one to call regularly so I've mostly been hearing about her second-hand through Alexis since she is keeping in touch with Alexis and it sounds like my mother is having a blast. I prefer not to know the details so I haven't asked beyond that. As for Alexis, she's having an amazing time, she assures me. I talked to her the other day and she was gushing over some super-interesting discussion they had in her French literature class." He heaved a false sigh. "I don't know how a child of mine ended up being so interested in academics."

"No, I'm shocked," she drawled. "You mean, you weren't a diligent student?"

He laughed. "Not really. I kept my grades up just enough to keep my scholarships but that was about it. Well, except for English class. I did try a little harder in English, for obvious reasons. What about you, Beckett?"

"I had my slacker rebel moments too," she admitted, "but I did study. My parents and I sort of had an unspoken deal that they'd turn a blind eye to most of my rebel antics as long as I kept my grades up. Plus, I got burned a couple times when I didn't try and then I got annoyed at myself for doing so badly compared to everyone else so that generally made me keep my grades up." She left unsaid that her mom's most potent tool had probably been the sting of her disappointment and her younger self had always—still—hated to disappoint her mom.

"Let me guess, you dated that punk rocker during your rebel Becks phase?"

She gaped a little. "He was a grunge rocker," she corrected automatically. "How did you know about—wait, never mind," she broke off as her thoughts caught up to her mouth. "Maddy," she guessed darkly, in a tone that boded no good for her friend. Maddy always had been able to talk a mile a minute. She suddenly remembered walking into that fancy new restaurant to see Castle and Maddy, both dressed to the nines, and eating off each other's plates.

"Yeah but don't blame her," Castle hurriedly added. "It wasn't like she spilled any real secrets and it wasn't really her fault because I was the one who asked her and you know how persistent I can be."

Damn, she'd forgotten how disarming Castle could be when he stepped up like this, accepted responsibility or blame. Even in this, when it wasn't as if she would really do anything to Maddy. She might have some words with her friend whenever they next met up but she and Maddy had known each other for long enough that the words would probably roll right off Maddy like water off a duck's back. And Castle had to realize that but he was still stepping up. Incongruously, her mind went to the day after she had shot Dick Coonan, what he'd said when he showed up with that absurd pile of food. _I overstepped. If it wasn't for me… _

The memory drowned out any irritation she felt with her friend for blabbing about Kate's personal life, helped along because it suddenly occurred to her what it meant, that on that date of theirs when Castle and Maddy had been sharing food, they had actually been talking about Kate. When she had felt a renegade, unacknowledged little twist of jealousy.

The realization took all the sting out of the memory of Castle going on a date with Maddy and made it easy for her to fall back into teasing. "Gee Castle, I didn't realize that your idea of flirtation was to ask questions about another woman."

"It's not, that's only because I was more interested in you," he responded, the words falling off his lips and landing like a stone.

What—had he just—he had. Her thoughts seemed to gibber. Had he really just said in so many words that he was interested in her? In the past tense? The heat in her cheeks and the rabbiting of her heart abruptly died down as she wondered if he'd meant that he had been interested in her but now he wasn't. After all, he had asked Gina out to the Hamptons not long after that and even now, they might have exchanged a few phone calls but she had no actual evidence that Castle was still interested, not really.

He belatedly seemed to realize what he had thoughtlessly blurted out and rushed to fill the silence. "I mean, I'm interested in learning more about you. For research, for Nikki Heat. For authenticity, I have to get the details right. About Nikki," he repeated inanely.

Weirdly, his clear embarrassment, his rush to explain, made her feel… better, the butterflies reappearing inside her. Because he was so clearly self-conscious about what he'd blurted out, which meant it was still true. He had to still be interested, she thought, a little spark of hope kindling inside her. She remembered what Esposito had said before he left, that Castle had done enough research to write 50 books. She hadn't been willing to admit it but she knew Castle wasn't sticking around just for the books anymore.

Her mind was flooded with images of him, so many times when he'd looked at her with such warmth in his eyes. And she remembered what Lanie had said about the way he'd run into a burning building to save her. He had saved her life, more than once, proven over and over again that he was willing to put his own life in danger for her. Jordan Shaw had seen it too. _He cares about you, Kate... _

After all that had happened, after Gina, she hadn't allowed herself to think about that, hadn't allowed herself to hope or believe it. But now… She tested the words out in her mind. He cared about her… And for the first time in weeks, she could believe the words were true.

And she… liked him. That irritating inner voice snorted and she amended her thoughts. She really liked him, liked him a lot. (The inner voice snorted again but she ignored it this time.)

But she couldn't say that, not yet, not now. Not over the phone. For another thing, he didn't appear to be ready to admit it either.

"Well, I know how much you care about authenticity," she managed to say, trying to keep her voice light.

"You joke but some of my readers take it very seriously," he tossed back, a thread of something like relief in his voice. Humor was easier, safer.

"And of course you'd hate to disappoint your readers."

"My readers are my livelihood so naturally I don't want to disappoint them. Anyway, you only make light of it because you haven't read some of the angry fan letters I've gotten. Do you know how angry some of my fans get when I get details wrong? I spent an entire morning in a nail salon learning about manicures but then when I wrote about a girl who worked in a nail salon, I got some details wrong about manicures and you wouldn't believe the letters I got after that!" He pitched his voice into a whine and she couldn't help but laugh, almost in spite of herself.

"What, a big brave man like you scared by some women with nail files?" she jibed.

"Hey, some of the implements they use in nail salons can kill you," he informed her darkly.

"And I'm sure you're just quivering in fear."

"I wouldn't go that far. I have a manly image to maintain," he quipped.

She smiled. "Did you really spend an entire morning in a nail salon?" The mental image of Castle, so tall and broad-shouldered, in a nail salon was quite priceless—and oddly attractive too because she could only imagine that the very feminine surroundings would have made him look all the more masculine in contrast.

"Are you doubting my veracity?" he feigned outrage and then went on more seriously, "But yes, I did spend a morning in a nail salon but I have to admit that my real motive for the visit wasn't really to do research but because I needed to learn how to put on nail polish so I could show Alexis."

Oh damn. She felt something inside her soften, melting like butter on a hot stove. She really did like this side of him, the kind of father he was, the sort of dad who would spend a morning in a nail salon to be able to show his daughter how to put on nail polish.

"How old was Alexis at the time?"

"Around 7 or 8. Some of her friends had started painting their nails as a way to look more grown-up and I didn't want her to feel left out."

What he left unsaid was that Alexis's friends would have had moms to show them how to put on nail polish the way Kate's mom had so many years ago. It occurred to her that Castle had never said much about what it had been like to raise a daughter as a single dad, perhaps for obvious reasons, but she wondered what else Castle had done over the years to try to make up for Alexis's mom not being around.

"Well, at least now, Martha's around to talk about girly stuff with Alexis, right?"

"Yeah. That might be the best part of my mother having to move in with me and Alexis. Although my mother's fashion advice can leave a lot to be desired."

Martha had needed to move in with him? Kate had assumed it was a choice but he made it sound otherwise. "Can I ask, how did Martha end up living with you?"

"Oh, that." She swore she could hear his grimace in his voice. "It's not the happiest story. She'd just married a guy a couple months before and then one day, she got home to find that he'd left, emptied out their bank account, even stolen some of her jewelry. Left her broke and broken-hearted."

"Oh god, poor Martha." Her heart hurt at the mental image of Martha, always so vibrant and so effervescent, being betrayed and humiliated like that. "When did this happen?"

"About a year before we met, so about two and a half years ago."

She didn't know why his measuring the time by how long they'd known each other made her stupid heart flip. "Did you ever find him again?"

"No. I looked, hired a PI even, but he was long gone, turned out he'd been living under a false name. I made sure my mother's divorce to the guy went through, though, so she was free of him and, well, long story short, she's been living at the loft ever since and I can't seem to get rid of her, no matter what I do," he added, trying to sound humorous, the way he usually spoke about Martha. But it was a little late. His voice betrayed the depths of the love he felt for his mother in a way she'd never really heard before. She'd guessed that Castle and Martha were closer than he let on, in spite of the teasing barbs that seemed to characterize their conversation, but this was the first time he'd really admitted it. She also heard in his tone the anger and frustration and helplessness when someone hurt a person you loved and there was nothing you could really do. Her own heart clenched with empathy at the thought. What had happened to Martha was nowhere close to what had happened to her mom but it occurred to her that maybe this was partly why Castle could understand at least some of how she felt about her mom's case.

And of course, Castle had stepped in, saved his mother. She was starting to realize that it was just the sort of man he was. Castle was not a man to shirk his responsibilities and he was devoted to his family. More than that, he was a helper, liked to help people. She suddenly remembered Scarlett Price, the call girl. Scarlett had sensed Castle's kindness, taken advantage of it, but Kate knew that even so, even after being betrayed like that, if it came up again, Castle would do the same thing. He was that sort of man.

It was why he'd looked into her mom's case, Kate suddenly thought. He had wanted to help her. In her anger and her hurt, she hadn't really looked at it in that light before but now, she could see it as part of a pattern. He had done the wrong thing but he had done it for the right reason and that made a difference.

"You can't kick Martha out, Castle; Alexis wouldn't let you," she managed to say, infusing as much teasing as she could manage into her voice.

"It's my house and Alexis isn't the boss of me," he huffed.

"Yeah, right. I've seen you with Alexis, remember, and she is definitely the boss of you."

"Hey! I resemble that remark."

It was a silly joke and an old one but she found herself laughing anyway. "Recognizing the problem is always a good first step," she responded with exaggerated condescension.

"You're mean, Beckett," he grumbled in mock petulance. She could just picture his (adorable) pout—and the image abruptly morphed into one of herself leaning in to kiss that pout. She blinked and shook her head a little to clear it of the too-vivid mental image. Since when had she started fantasizing about kissing Castle—on second thought, no, she didn't wonder that.

"Anyway," she jumped in, infusing playfulness into her voice (Playful—her! But that was what he did to her, brought out the playful side of her that had been buried for so long), "I don't think it's fair that you've found out more about my high school years and I don't know much about yours, so spill. Tell me something about your high school friends."

He gave a brief laugh that somehow didn't sound entirely humorous. "Sorry to disappoint you but it wouldn't be a long story because I didn't have many high school friends."

She blinked, sobering. That seemed… almost impossible, that a man like Castle, who was so congenial and outgoing, could have lacked for friends. "Oh. I'm sorry," she said, rather awkwardly. So this wasn't going to be the teasing conversation she'd expected.

"It's okay; it was a long time ago," he demurred, his tone sounding artificially bright. "Anyway, I did have one real friend from back then, at Edgewyck Prep. His name was Damian."

"Yeah? What was he like?"

"He was the editor at the school paper and he saw something I'd written and he encouraged me, told me it was good and I should write more. No one had ever told me that before." He paused and then added in something approaching his usual tone, "So I guess he's really the one to blame for me following you around because I might not have become a writer if it weren't for him and if I weren't a writer, I wouldn't need a muse."

"Remind me to have words with him if I ever meet him," she quipped. "Are you and Damian still in touch?"

"Not really. I haven't seen him in a few years, I think, but if I wanted to get in touch with him, I could and he's probably the only person from my high school years I wouldn't mind seeing."

"Wow, that bad, huh?" She wasn't sure she'd ever heard Castle sound so negative about people he'd used to know.

"Oh, you know." How had it happened that she could hear his shrug in his voice? "A few of my classmates looked me up after my books were published, after recognizing me from the author pictures. But well, they weren't exactly subtle, people who'd barely given me the time of day in high school who were suddenly eager to claim me as their new best friend, now that I was rich and famous."

"Oh," was all she could think to say, lamely. She hadn't really considered that aspect of Castle's fame and money before, but then again, he did seem to go out of his way to seem like he wouldn't care. She was starting to see where his frivolous façade had come from.

"You remember the Bobby Mann case?"

When he'd slept with Ellie Monroe. "Yes," she answered flatly. Of course she remembered—and rather wished she didn't.

She swore she could sense his wince. As if he knew exactly what her mind had leaped to. "I just meant, remember what Bobby's first wife said, that she was the only woman who fell in love with him before the fame and money?"

"I remember." She found herself softening just a little.

"She had a point; it's hard to find real friendships when you're rich and famous."

As Ellie Monroe had proven too, although he wasn't saying that. He acted as if he didn't care about being used but maybe it was more that he had come to expect it so he'd become inured to it. She frowned. It was so… wrong, for someone like Castle to feel that way. But she couldn't really blame Castle for the Ellie Monroe episode, not anymore, not when she thought about Ellie using Castle the way she had. Instead, she felt a surge of irritation, directed at Ellie rather than at Castle, irritation that was… oddly protective. Since when did she feel protective over Castle, this wish to protect him from getting hurt in any way?

"So I guess what I mean to say is thank you," he added.

"For what?"

"For being a friend. I don't have a lot of real friends anymore so I appreciate it."

Oh damn. And there went the butterflies again. Castle's sincerity was more lethal than even his charm. "This, from the man who always says he has a guy everywhere?" she asked with an attempt at lightness.

"I said real friends, people who don't want anything from me, who don't care about the money or fame or connections. I know a lot of people, sure, and being rich and famous makes you popular but real friends, not so much. So people like you, the Captain, the boys, Lanie—you're different."

"Really, I'm just using you for your coffee."

He laughed one of his real, happy laughs this time, and she felt a ridiculous swell of warmth inside her at the mental image of his wide smile, his dancing eyes. "Well, in that case, I guess I should finish up the next book in a hurry and get back to my coffee-making duties before you replace me."

She did want him to hurry back and there was no way he could ever be replaced but as usual, she couldn't say so outright so what she said instead was, "Yeah, well, your brand of insanity is not that common."

"I know, I'm special like that," he pretended to preen and she could hear his smirk in his voice. And then he added with a complete change in tone, "Oh, I have to go. Alexis is calling, no doubt to make sure I made it back safely."

Oh right. She was unreasonably dispirited that the call was ending. "And you still say she's not the boss of you?" she managed to tease.

"She worries about me," he said simply, his voice softening. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?" He ended on a hopeful note.

"Sure, tomorrow's fine," she agreed, trying to sound bland. As if his merely wanting to talk to her again tomorrow hadn't made her heart start to dance around in her chest. It was so ridiculous, so juvenile, to be this happy that he wanted to talk to her again the very next day. "Night, Castle."

"'Til tomorrow, Beckett."

She ended the call with a glow of hope and liking—even affection?—in her chest that lingered for the rest of the evening. Yeah, she really had it bad…

_~To be continued…~_

_A/N 2: As always, thank you all for reading and reviewing!_


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Moving forward and getting closer… Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 8_

Kate's steps dragged a little as she let herself into her apartment the next evening. It hadn't been a bad day up until she and the boys had gotten called out for a new case that afternoon, at which point her day had rapidly disappeared downhill.

She ate her solitary dinner with the TV on but it couldn't be said she paid much attention to it. Her mind instead wandered back over the day, the new case, and then inevitably, to Castle.

She had missed him today. Well, more than usual. Had again found herself thinking that her day would be easier if he were around. Not so much for her own sake, but because of his way with people in general. She'd found herself thinking that he would have made it easier, better, when she'd been talking to the victim's devastated parents.

She tried not to dwell on the memory of breaking the news but today had been a bad one. The parents today had been… nice people, from what she'd seen of them. They had greeted her amicably with innocent surprise and curiosity and it had cost her some effort to give them the news that would wreck their lives. It never got any easier—she didn't want it to get easier—to see the way hope and happiness were extinguished from people's eyes. The victim's mother had been almost incoherent from shock and grief, the father no better except that he hid it better, and it had been a long, painful span of time, maybe ten minutes or so, before the parents had regained some measure of control and even then, Kate had felt guilty of something like cruelty to have to ask the necessary questions about their daughter's life, her habits, any enemies she might have. And not for the first time, she had wished for Castle.

He had a way of calming people from the incoherence of their grief, his voice lowering, becoming gentler, and it almost never failed to have a salutary effect on his audience, especially women, but it wasn't limited to women. Something about Castle's innate compassion allowed him to reach men too, which provided Kate the welcome window of calm for her to do her job and ask the necessary hard questions. And in this case especially, Kate thought Castle would have helped because he was a parent too so he would have been able to empathize. Without him—well, Kate could do her job as she always had but it had taken a little longer, been harder, than it might have been.

And yes, she had missed him for her own sake too. Her role as a messenger of death wore her down but Castle had a way of making her smile or just distracting her. She remembered telling Castle that having him around made her job a little more fun and his absence had definitely proven the truth of the words.

He'd said he would call today and she was looking forward to it, wanted to hear his voice in a way that she didn't care to examine and was barely able to acknowledge to herself. All she did decide, as far as she could go in admitting it, was that if he didn't call by 9 p.m., she would just call him herself. She'd make up some excuse or just ask him for his theories on the case.

He called at 8:50 p.m.

"Hey, Castle," she greeted him.

"Hey, Beckett. Is something wrong?"

She blinked. Had he developed some sort of telepathy now? (She'd been spending too much time with Castle to think like this.) "No, why do you ask?"

"Oh. It's just…" She could practically hear his little shrug in his pause before he answered, "You sounded a little off. Tired."

Wow. He had been able to tell that from her two-word greeting? She hadn't been trying to hide her emotions per se but even so, she didn't think her tone was that easy to read. "I'm fine."

"Tough case?" he asked. Trust him not to accept the quick assurance.

"You could say that," she gave in. "We got a new case this afternoon, a grad student at Columbia, and I had to break the news to her parents." It occurred to her as she was speaking that Castle might be the only person she really could talk to about this. She wouldn't want to show such emotional vulnerability in front of the boys and Espo wasn't the touchy-feely type anyway. Lanie might understand but she was more inured to death and viewed it more clinically, out of necessity. And Kate would never confide in her dad about the hard parts of her job, knowing how much he already worried about her and because of the lingering niggle of worry that if the worry became too much, he might fall back into the bottle. "It's never easy to break the news but this one was… tougher than usual."

"Oh." She heard his immediate understanding in the one soft syllable. He sighed and then said quietly, "I don't know how you do it. I might be a writer but I don't have words for that."

It was true in a sense. He never said much in the interviews with the next of kin, let her take point and usually limited his words to "I'm sorry," or other simple expressions of sympathy. It was his manner that helped, made even platitudes seem meaningful.

"You do okay at it," she offered, without quite realizing she was going to. Odd, how his admission of ignorance made her want to reassure. "You might not know the words but at times like that, it's more about your mannerisms, how you say it rather than what you say." It was true. She remembered—would never forget—The Night, Detective Raglan saying the usual words, "I'm very sorry for your loss" and thinking that he wasn't sorry at all. She'd known that even then, that Raglan didn't really care. It hadn't taken his desultory attempt to solve her mom's case for Kate to realize that. When she herself had become a detective, one thing she had vowed to herself was that she would never be the kind of cop that grew indifferent, that she would never make a victim's family think she didn't care.

"Thank you, Beckett," he sounded a little surprised and more pleased.

"It's the truth," she demurred rather lamely, belatedly self-conscious at having complimented him. "Anyway, if I sounded a little down, that's why." She paused and afterwards, she wasn't sure what spurred her to confide further in Castle but somehow, she found herself doing just that. "It's just… hard, probably the hardest thing about my job, to be the one that breaks the news. Talk about being the ultimate killjoy, that's me." She tried and failed to inject something like levity into her tone.

She heard him suck in a soft breath. "Kate, _no_." He paused, seeming to hunt for the right words, giving her time to get over the little ripple of reaction at his use of her first name, so rare from him. And she… liked it. Liked the way her name sounded when he said it. "No, you're not—that's not what you do. You're not the one who takes people's joy away; that's the killer. It's always on the killer." He paused and then added, "A very wise person once told someone else who thought a murder might be partially their fault that 'it's the fault of the person who killed her.'"

Something in his tone told her who he was referring to, made her search her memory and then she remembered, the Eliska Sokol case and what she had said to Mrs. Talbot. A faint smile curved her lips. "That rings a bell. Do I know this very wise person?" she managed to joke and wondered, not for the first time, how Castle did it, how he managed to strike a spark of humor even in darkness.

"You might. She's tall, pretty. Carries the weight of the world on her shoulders but still manages to laugh at some of my jokes, even the dumb ones."

She blushed hotly, thankful that he couldn't see her, a flock of butterflies coming to life inside her. Not so much at his calling her pretty but from the way he valued her laughter, his tone that said so much more than the words. She tried to find words but was honestly at a loss. This was more… open, more blunt, than she was used to from him.

But Castle, fortunately for her, wasn't quite done speaking, his tone sobering once more, "You give people answers, help them to heal."

"I try," was all she could manage to say.

After that, there was a moment of silence but she wasn't surprised that he was the one to break it, clearing his throat. "After that, I'm not really sure if what I have to say is less appropriate or more appropriate."

She had to smile at that. "Since when has a concern for what's appropriate stopped you?" she teased.

He gave a brief self-deprecating chuckle. "Fair point. Okay, what I wanted to say is to extend an invitation."

"An invitation?" she parroted dumbly, trying and failing to tamp down the bubble of something like hope rising inside her.

"Yes. Do you have to work over the Fourth of July long weekend?"

"No," she answered slowly, her heart starting to thump. Was he about to… try again?

"Well then, if you don't have to work, Alexis was wondering if you'd want to come and spend the weekend with us in the Hamptons."

She blinked. "Alexis asked?"

"Yes. When I talked to her yesterday, she said to ask you. She wants to talk to you about colleges, she said, and she knows how hard you work so she thought it would be good if you could take a break."

Some of the butterflies in her chest started to wilt. Why was he only talking in terms of Alexis? As if he was only repeating an invitation because he'd promised his daughter he would.

"What about you, Castle?" she blurted out. "Do you want me to come visit too?" It might have been the boldest question she'd ever asked him and she wasn't sure where she got the nerve to do so except maybe it was born out of all the days and weeks of thinking of him, missing him. Or maybe it was from the hope of knowing he really did care about her.

"I told you once that you were always welcome at the loft and that goes for every house I own," he answered, sounding as if he were picking his words carefully. But his caution didn't change the fact of what he'd said and, well, she could read between the lines.

Her heart was back to jumping around in her chest and she bit her lower lip as if that would somehow help contain her emotions. This was it, could be it. A second chance, a do-over for the Memorial Day fiasco.

In spite of everything, she still felt a little edge of nerves, of doubt, when she thought about Castle, about a relationship with Castle. What if they just imploded? What if the physical attraction between them was one of those brief flickers like a flash of lightning, bright but never lasting? What if they really didn't work as anything other than the work partners and friends they were now? What if she, a plain cop, wouldn't be enough for him and all his interest was just the thrill of the chase, the attraction of what he didn't have? And it wasn't as if Kate had been successful in her past relationships either. What if…

But for once, the voice of her fears was drowned out in the surge of hope and happiness. Maybe it was crazy but this was what she wanted. _He_ was what she wanted. And she'd had too many days and weeks of regret, of thinking, if only…

So she took the leap she'd been prevented from taking before. There was no Gina now.

"Yes."

"Yes? You mean you will? You'll come out to the Hamptons for the long weekend?" he sounded shocked and so excited and hopeful.

She flushed, trying and failing to calm the butterflies in her chest. "I hate to disappoint Alexis," she managed. It wasn't untrue. She honestly did like the girl, who'd certainly never been anything but sweet to Kate, and Kate had enjoyed the girl's company in the short week she'd spent at the loft a couple months ago after her old apartment had exploded. But it was the girl's father that was the real draw.

"That's great! This is going to be amazing."

Oh, wait, speaking of his daughter. "You're sure I won't be intruding on your time with Alexis? I know how much you've missed her."

"I'm sure. Alexis was the one who invited you and it's just spending time with Alexis that I've missed. I don't insist on monopolizing her."

"Okay, if you're sure." She tried to sound calm, tried to keep her smile from being audible in her tone.

"I'm very sure. Alexis will be happy too."

"Thank Alexis for me and tell her I'll see her next weekend then."

"Great! I'm going to go up to Princeton to pick Alexis up the moment her last class gets out on Friday. But you'll have to work on Friday still, right?"

"Yeah, I do. I can drive out on Saturday morning."

"Okay, that sounds like a plan and then we'll have the whole weekend until I need to take Alexis back to Princeton on Monday and I assume you'll need to go back to work."

"That sounds good to me."

"This will be great!" he repeated. He sounded as if he were practically bouncing.

"Yeah," she agreed quietly and rather lamely, biting her lip in a futile attempt to moderate her smile, absently twisting a strand of hair around her finger.

A brief silence fell after that. She wasn't sure what more there was to say but at the same time, she didn't want the call to end either.

After a minute, he was the one to speak, his voice somewhat toned down from its earlier exuberance. "Will you tell me more about this new case?"

Her smile fell from her lips at the reminder, even as she relaxed, feeling something lift inside her at this evidence that he wasn't ready to end the call either. "Sure. We don't know all that much yet because we only just got the case this afternoon. The victim, Sofia Fuentes, is a grad student at Columbia. She was found strangled and her body dragged behind a dumpster in an alley so she wasn't found for hours."

"How old is she?" His voice was entirely sober now, reflecting all the compassion she knew he would feel.

"26."

"You said she was strangled. Any ligature marks?"

It occurred to her that this conversation—considering what had just come before—was probably a little strange but it worked for them, somehow, bonding over murder, as odd as that was. It was familiar and so easy to slip back into their usual back-and-forth over casework. She would almost call it the foundation of their relationship. "Yes, Lanie said it was probably some sort of cloth, not a string or a rope, maybe a scarf or necktie."

"Could it have been a robbery gone wrong?"

"Unlikely. She was in gym clothes and it looks like she was on her way home after going to the gym. Her wallet and cell phone were missing but someone on their way home from a workout is not the typical robbery target."

"True enough. Any other ideas about motive?"

"No, we don't know enough about her life yet. We put in requests for her phone and financials. Her parents could only tell me that she was working this summer as a research assistant for one of her professors at Columbia."

"Have you talked to the professor?"

"Again, not yet. It being summertime, we weren't able to reach anyone at the school when we called so we just left a message letting the school know that we'd be coming by tomorrow to talk to her professor."

"Oh. What's the professor's name?"

This question made her blink. The others had been routine but she wasn't sure why this mattered. "Greg Mennard. Why do you ask?"

"I thought I'd ask my guy at Columbia about him."

She couldn't help a small smile. "You have a guy at Columbia?"

He pretended to sigh. "How many times must I tell you that I've got a guy just about everywhere?"

"Excuse me for doubting the extent of your 'guy' network," she drawled.

"Thank you," he said with exaggerated dignity before he added, more normally, "I got to know one of the poli sci professors at Columbia a few years ago because I wanted to know more about Russia's politics and its strategies in geopolitics for Derrick Storm."

"For _Storm Warning_?" she guessed. That was the Storm book in which the plot had revolved most centrally about Russia.

"Are you showing off your familiarity with my books? That might be the nicest thing anyone has said to me in weeks."

She could hear his smirk in his voice and felt heat singe her cheeks. Damn, she was really letting too much slip past her usual filter that kept her from complimenting Castle, first telling him he wasn't bad at comforting people and now this.

"More importantly, Castle, why do you think talking to your guy will help?" she tried to deflect.

"You never know, some of the gossip that goes around between colleagues might turn out to be useful."

"Knock yourself out with gossiping and the boys and I will try to gather actual, _useful_ evidence."

"Ouch, that hurts, Beckett," he whined histrionically. "You wound me with your mockery."

"I think you'll survive."

As if to prove her right, he immediately bounced back with an unreasonably cheerful, "So what are we thinking for a motive?"

She suppressed a smile. "Let me guess, you think she's a CIA spy, sent to infiltrate our institutions of higher learning."

He gave a loud fake gasp. "How'd you guess? It's like you know me or something."

Ridiculous man. "I don't think she's a spy, Castle," she said flatly.

"But wouldn't it be awesome if she was? Come on, just think about it. Columbia's the type of school that has lots of important people's kids in its student body and I'd imagine a few of the UN diplomats have sent their kids there so it'd be the perfect place for a spy."

"It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data," she quoted didactically.

"It is so hot that you can quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle like that."

She flushed a little. She'd known he would think that. "But that's not going to stop you from theorizing," she predicted.

"Nope," he agreed airily. "Theorizing without data is my specialty. And I'm liking my spy theory more and more. She could have been recruited and planted there to become friends with a UN diplomat's kids, getting access to their house, the diplomat's office. It's the perfect set-up."

"The victim studied Latin and last I checked, that's not a commonly-used diplomatic language," she countered.

"But Latin forms the root language for a lot of other languages so she could have used that to learn other languages."

"You're just not giving up on your spy theory, are you?"

"Not a chance." And proceeded to prove it by expounding on the theory freely, slipping into his storytelling voice. She found her eyes drifting closed, not because she felt sleepy but just because it was kind of… nice to listen to Castle's voice, his storytelling tone. She idly wondered if he'd ever recorded audiobooks because she would listen, could imagine curling up in bed while listening to his recorded voice. But the image that formed in her treacherous mind was not of listening to an audiobook but just of him, having him there in person to read aloud to her, in bed or in her bathtub…

She blushed and opened her eyes, jerking back to the present. Whoa, okay, her mind and her imagination were clearly running away with her.

Castle was, of course, still talking, although he had moved on to yet another (improbable) theory involving a conspiracy to steal some of the expensive old books and incunabula from Columbia's library.

She scoffed. "I highly doubt that many professional thieves are the types to be interested in first-edition books."

"First editions of certain classics are worth millions and if you think about it, it makes sense to target the ones owned by universities because their security systems are probably going to be less advanced and easier to crack than the ones at the big museums that also own a lot of the really valuable old books."

"If I hear of a rash of burglaries of high-end old books stolen from universities, I'm going to put you at the top of the suspect list."

"Hey! You mock but I bet that if I turned to a life of crime, I'd be damn good at it. Do you know how much of my life I've spent trying to plan the perfect crime that could never be solved?"

"I'm not sure that's something to boast about," she told him dryly. "I am a cop, remember?"

"Are you saying you wouldn't help me cover up a crime? What kind of friend are you?" he whined in exaggerated dismay.

She laughed aloud and he joined her and the conversation devolved even further into silliness from there in a way that surprised her when she thought about it afterwards—okay, so the silliness was mostly on his side but not entirely. It was the Castle effect, she decided; he made her silly or rather, he made it easier for the well-hidden, long-suppressed silly side of her to appear. It didn't detract from the underlying seriousness of the actual murder but these moments of levity helped. _He_ helped.

* * *

Castle would really love this case.

The thought kept repeating in her mind over the course of the day and even Ryan had mentioned that it was a case right up Castle's alley and she had rolled her eyes, telling him he should stop pining, but she had to admit it was true.

It was a case Castle would like and Kate found a small smile curving her lips as she pressed the button to call him, curling her legs up under her as she relaxed on her couch. She'd already ordered her dinner and so she had some time to kill while she waited for it to arrive so now was her chance.

"Hey, Castle."

"Beckett, I swear you must be telepathic! I was just thinking of calling you and here you are. It's spooky."

She rolled her eyes a little even as a smile escaped her. "Telepathy isn't real, Castle."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Must you always burst my bubble?"

"Yes," she answered succinctly.

"Hey!"

She gave in and laughed. "I have to take my fun where I can find it."

"You're so mean," he grumbled.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm calling to give you an update on the case."

"I take it back; you're not mean at all. I found out more about the case too but you go first."

His eagerness had her smothering a smile. "You would like this case, Castle. Even Ryan said so."

"That's so thoughtful, that a murder makes you think of me."

Ridiculous man. "Freak," she jibed mildly. "Anyway, we talked to Professor Mennard and his other research assistant, who'd been working closely with the victim. Professor Mennard is working on a paper about a translation of some text that he found on an old parchment. Apparently, he used some new technology and discovered that the parchment basically had two layers of text on it because someone had reused it, trying to erase the old text—"

"A palimpsest!" Castle exclaimed, cutting off her explanation.

She blinked but supposed she shouldn't be surprised. "Ten points to Gryffindor," she quipped.

He gave a fake cough that sounded like "geek."

"You're one to talk, Mr. 'I can quote every line from _Star Wars_,'" she retorted dryly.

"Point taken. So tell me more about the palimpsest."

"You just like saying that word, don't you?"

"It's a cool word!"

She had to laugh. "Yeah, it is. Espo's been making a joke out of mangling it. His latest one is to refer to it as a plimp."

Castle laughed and she grinned. "So anyway, Professor Mennard and his research assistants have been researching the palimpsest to write a paper on it. Jared Thayer, the other research assistant, hinted that the professor and the victim were having an affair."

"I don't believe it," he inserted.

She had already come to that conclusion but decided not to admit that immediately. "That's ridiculous, Castle. You haven't even met the professor or are you claiming that your gut has some magical properties to discover an affair from a distance?"

"Funny, Beckett," he shot back dryly. "But no, I don't believe it because I did talk to my guy at Columbia and I asked if he'd ever heard any rumors to that effect and he flatly denied it, said Professor Mennard was known to be devoted to his wife and he'd never heard a word of any rumors that he might have some less than proper relations with any of his female students. And universities can be hotbeds of gossip about that sort of thing. Also, he said he knew Professor Mennard and Mennard even mentioned the victim and spoke of her like a daughter, he said."

"As it happens, you might have a point," she relented. "We looked into the victim's phone records and her emails and if they were having an affair, it was the most subtle one ever because pretty much all their correspondence was about work except for one time when the vic and a group of other students were invited to the professor's house for dinner but he does that for all his grad students. Besides, we double-checked the professor's alibi and he's in the clear. He was at a department faculty meeting at the time of death and then he had lunch with some of his colleagues."

"I knew it!"

"Not so fast, Castle; we just found actual evidence to confirm what you only guessed."

"But I was still right," he said smugly.

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, if you're done gloating, the fact that it looks like Jared Thayer lied about the affair means that we've turned our attention to him because where there's a lie, there's motive."

"Oh, I've figured that one out. Come on, Beckett, you can say it, I might have just cracked this case wide open," he preened.

"You mean, you have more baseless speculation?"

He huffed. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I don't have to tell you."

She sternly bit back a smile. "Just tell me, Castle."

"Fine, but only because I'm nice. So like I told you, I talked to my guy at Columbia and he said that he's heard that Mennard's decided that he would list the victim as a co-author on the paper but his other research assistant's help would be left as the more usual footnote."

"Okay, but are you seriously saying that Thayer killed the victim over a footnote?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'publish or perish'? Both research assistants are Ph.D. candidates and having a published article under her name would definitely have meant a lot to the victim's future. And it's not just about the paper but because it would give her a leg up in looking for a job afterwards. Academia is not that big so there aren't a lot of jobs out there, especially for a subject like Classics, and according to my guy, Mennard is a legend in the field so publishing an article with him is a big deal. And the difference in salary between teaching at a big-name university versus some no-name college in the middle of Podunk can be in the tens of thousands per year, to say nothing of the prestige and future career prospects."

"But did Thayer know about Mennard deciding this? If he didn't know, that's not a motive."

"You can find that out pretty easily, can't you? Just ask Professor Mennard tomorrow."

"True," she agreed and felt a smile escape, a little thrill going through her because he was right, that would be a valid motive and she knew there had to be something going on for Jared Thayer to insinuate that the victim had been having an affair with the professor. A lie like that was always significant. "Thanks, Castle. I'll look into it tomorrow."

"See, I told you I was being helpful!"

And there he went again. But he wasn't wrong. And she was ridiculously pleased because, even if his theory didn't turn out to be true, it was almost like they were working together again. Consulting by phone, like he'd suggested.

"Keep gloating and I'm hanging up," she threatened. Untruthfully.

"No more gloating, I promise." He paused and then added, "But I can still feel like I'm involved in the case, even if I'm not actually there."

She relented. "Yeah, you can." And she liked it too, that he was still so eager to work cases with her, even when he wasn't in the city.

"Good. Oh, and say hi to the boys for me, will you? Once the next book is done and I'm back in the city, I should have you guys come over again for another poker night," he suggested.

"I'm sure they'd love that," she answered, only to be interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. Right, her dinner. "Just a minute, Castle."

She retrieved her dinner and thanked the delivery boy before returning to the couch with her food, putting her phone on speaker. "I'm back now."

"Your dinner?" he guessed.

She smiled to herself. He really did know her. "Yeah. So you talk and I'll eat."

"Yes, Miss Bossy," he answered in mock pettishness but he did, as she'd asked, start to talk. Because of course, he would, starting to enthuse over an example of a palimpsest he'd seen in the British Museum once. She listened as she ate, a little flare of warmth blossoming in her chest. It was… nice, being able to listen to him while she ate, but she couldn't help but think it would be even better if he were actually here in person. Having takeout or delivery or a home-cooked meal and sitting down to eat it together… Talking the way they had been over the last few days, just in person rather than over the phone. She could picture that, not only working with Castle during the day but also spending the evenings with him, like she had the brief week she'd stayed over at the loft. And it occurred to her that if that was what an actual relationship with Castle would look like… it could work. And she wanted it, wanted to be with Castle. (Oh god.)

And she would be seeing him again in just a matter of days. Staying with him at his Hamptons house. This would be their chance…

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Happy now?


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Sorry to disappoint but this isn't the start of the Hamptons weekend, not yet.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 9_

Kate was already smiling when she pressed the button to call Castle the next evening. (When had she started to feel so… happy just at the thought of talking to Castle?) "Hey, Castle."

"Beckett, hi! Are you calling to give me an update on the case?"

"Yes, I am."

"And? What happened? What else have you found out?" His eagerness had her biting back a smile. Really, she didn't think she'd ever met anyone who was so excited about murder.

"We closed the case and it turns out you were right, Castle."

"Say that again, Beckett!" Castle declaimed with histrionic fervor and she could just picture his blue eyes widening into one of his puppy-dog looks and possibly striking some dramatic pose, maybe clasping his hands. Not that the look would work on her because it wouldn't. At all. Really. "I've been waiting years to hear you say those words so please, say that again!"

She sternly bit back a laugh. "You heard me the first time."

"I didn't. There was a thing—a weird buzzing or something—so I missed hearing it."

"Uh huh," she drawled. "Funny, how your temporary deafness still allowed you to know I said something complimentary."

"Aw, Beckett…"

"Nope, I've given you the only compliment I plan to give you today."

"Does that mean you'll compliment me more tomorrow?" was his immediate response.

"Don't be so smug, Castle," she retorted, infusing as much severity into her tone as she could muster—which wasn't much.

"Can't help it. It comes naturally."

"You know, vanity is really not an attractive character trait."

"But you are admitting you find me attractive otherwise?"

She rolled her eyes. "That wasn't what I said." Even to her own ears, she sounded indulgent, rather than scolding. Damn it.

He heaved a fake, exaggerated sigh. "Fine, since you're so determined to be mean, will you at least tell me about the case?"

She allowed herself to smirk, since he wasn't there to see her. Really, it was way too easy and so much fun to tease him. "Jared Thayer did it."

"Beckett!" Castle all but howled in protest and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "You know that's not enough. I want to know the whole story!"

"Oh, you want the whole story?" she asked in faux surprise.

He huffed. "You're being mean, Beckett."

She grinned. Was it mean to get so much fun out of teasing him? Maybe, just a little. "Okay, the story." She pitched her voice to a more dramatic tone as she went on. "The setting: Columbia University in Manhattan. The _dramatis personae_: our victim, Sofia Fuentes, a girl who discovered a true passion for studying ancient languages and cultures. Professor Greg Mennard, a legend in his field and an avuncular figure to most of his students, including Sofia—"

"Avuncular, good word," Castle interrupted.

"Less editorializing from the peanut gallery," she scolded mildly before she went on, switching back to her dramatic narrator tone. (She really had been spending too much time with Castle.) "And lastly, Jared Thayer, a young man from a privileged background."

Castle made a hastily-suppressed sound of excitement like a squeal. Overly excitable manchild that he was.

"Professor Mennard hired two research assistants to work with him on his new article on the newly discovered text on the palimpsest, Sofia and Jared. For Sofia, it was a dream come true; for Jared, it was nothing more than what he believed he deserved with his background and academic pedigree and their attitudes were reflected in their work ethic. Where Sofia put in 2 or 3 hours of work, Jared put in 1. If Profesor Mennard had a tangential research question come up, it was Sofia who usually volunteered to work on it first, although the professor tried to divide the assignments evenly so as not to overwork Sofia. And when it came to the actual writing of the article, it was Sofia's work that was the most useful and ended up being relied on the most so Professor Mennard decided that it would be only fair to give Sofia credit as a collaborator on the title page, while Jared would be thanked in the usual manner, in a footnote."

"And you mocked my footnote theory," Castle interjected in a less than subtle aside.

Trust him not to miss a chance to gloat. "As I remember it, I only pointed out that you didn't have any solid evidence to back up your theory."

"You say tomato," was his creative response.

She rolled her eyes but went on with the story. "Anyway, Jared already rather resented Sofia just for being hired as the other research assistant when he thought he was better qualified but the resentment came to a head when Professor Mennard revealed that Sofia would be getting credit as a co-author on the article. Jared convinced himself that it was Sofia's fault that he wasn't getting the recognition and the credit he felt he deserved. So Jared decided to take matters into his own hands, killing Sofia and trying to make it look like a robbery gone wrong by taking her wallet and cell phone."

"Too bad he didn't count on his case getting assigned to you."

She smiled almost in spite of herself. "Yeah, well, a criminal mastermind, Jared is not. Obviously," she added wryly, "he made a mistake in not thinking to consult someone like you, who's spent so much time thinking about how to kill people."

"Put like that, you make it sound less like a compliment and more like calling me a psychopath."

She smirked. "You said it, not me."

He made a disgruntled sound and she could just picture the face he was probably making. (Was it weird to be so familiar with his expressions?)

"Are you practicing your dying cat impression?" she quipped.

"Hey! I'll have you know that I'm a man, a manly man, and I do not sound like a dying cat!"

"I'll believe that when I see it," she tossed back flippantly.

"Oh believe me, Beckett, I'm more than happy to prove just how manly I am." Now, his voice had lowered into that husky (sexy) tone of his that sent a little shiver rippling through her.

She bit her lip, flushing. She knew he could prove it. Could imagine in quite graphic detail just how he might go about proving it. (Was her apartment getting hotter?) "Maybe some other time," she tried to sound blandly amused.

There was a brief pause in which she suspected they were both thinking (hoping?) about the coming holiday weekend when she'd be at his place in the Hamptons. With his daughter there too, she reminded herself sternly, so they weren't exactly going to be alone but still…

And then Castle cleared his throat a little and asked, with a complete change in tone, "So did you get a confession out of Jared Thayer?"

"Yes, we did. You'd probably have enjoyed it too. Once we figured out the motive, it was easy to come up with a strategy and so Espo and I teamed up for a good cop-bad cop routine. Jared wasn't the type to give anything up to a woman so he was all smug arrogance when I was in the box with him but then Espo followed up and basically played him like a two-dollar banjo, using his former military macho-man routine, so Jared thought he was on his side basically and we got him."

"Nice. Espo must have gotten a kick out of that."

"Yeah, he enjoyed it. Practically strutted out of the box." She sobered as she added, "So I let him and Ryan be the ones to take down Jared's final confession while I went to see Sofia's parents."

"Oh." She heard his sigh of empathy. "At least they have the answer, some justice, although I don't know how much it helps."

It was her turn to sigh. "It does help, a little. Knowing why matters."

"Beckett…" Something in his tone, the way he hesitated, told her that he was thinking of her mom's case, again, about Dick Coonan and all she still didn't know, but then he clearly decided not to bring it up and instead said, "When I get back to the City, I might go see my guy at Columbia, get an introduction to Professor Mennard, and ask about donating or doing something to try to honor Sofia's memory, maybe offering a prize in her name for the best student paper in Classics, something like that."

Something inside her went soft. He really was a good man, wasn't he, a better man than she'd given him credit for. He spent so much time seemingly trying to ensure that the adjectives that usually came to mind to describe him were more along the lines of cocky or talkative or silly or, yes, irritating. But then she saw him with his daughter or he offered $100,000 without batting an eye for the off-chance of catching her mom's killer—or he volunteered to do something to honor the memory of a girl he had never met and whose case he hadn't directly worked on. "You don't have to do that," she offered lamely.

"I want to do something. She's not that much older than Alexis and, well, from what you've said about her, her studiousness and work ethic, that sounds like Alexis too. And the idea that someone killed her for that…" He trailed off but he didn't need to finish the sentence for her to understand.

There was nothing good about this so finally, she just went with some news that at least might help, a little. "Professor Mennard told me that he'll make sure the article is still published under Sofia's name and he'll arrange to have a special copy printed up for Sofia's parents to have."

"That's nice."

"Yeah. He was horrified to find out about Jared." The professor had also made some statements that indicated he was blaming himself for his so-called favoritism to Sofia, which Kate had tried to deny but she knew guilt wasn't a rational emotion.

She heard Castle's sigh over the line and knew he was still dwelling on the tragedy of it all. The victim's age, her character, everything about this case said that it would haunt Castle for a while. It bothered her, made her feel vaguely guilty, to think about how his association with her had exposed him to such things that would weigh his spirit down. But then, she reminded herself, he had obviously been fascinated by murder and mysteries long before they'd ever met. And he had thanked her for being a real friend. So their relationship wasn't so unequal but it still seemed… wrong… for Castle, who was such a natural optimist, to sound so down. Funny, after so many times complaining that Castle never took anything seriously (although she knew those complaints were unfair now), she didn't like it when he was being serious.

She wanted to cheer him up. It felt a little odd, to be the one in a position to want to distract and cheer Castle up since usually, that was his role, but in a sense, she rather owed him and more than that, she wanted to. She wasn't sure when she'd started to care so much about Castle's emotions but there it was. She couldn't think of much but she fell back on the one subject she knew never failed to brighten Castle's mood. "How is Alexis?"

She could hear his soft smile in his tone that sounded brighter too as he answered, "She's great. She just got an A on an essay she was a little worried about and was super-thrilled about that, even though I told her that of course she'd done fine. Oh, and she's so glad you're going to be joining us at the Hamptons this weekend. In fact," his tone switched to one of faux injury, "she sounded more excited about seeing you than she is about seeing me."

Kate had to smile at that, could picture his ridiculously exaggerated pout. "Don't be silly, Castle."

"I am not silly!" he huffed in mock outrage. "I am the picture of wisdom and solemnity!"

She sputtered with laughter at this piece of nonsense and he laughed too, apparently not able to hold out.

"Okay, maybe not but I could have decided to turn over a new leaf," he offered.

"Don't strain yourself on my account," she told him dryly. "You'll break something and I've kind of gotten used to you acting like an 8-year-old on a sugar rush."

"I take offense to that," he sniffed, his tone so full of exaggerated hauteur that her mind immediately formed a picture of him puffing his chest out, lifting his chin, and rearranging his features into a look of offended dignity. Ridiculous (adorable) man that he was. "I think my behavior is appropriate for a 10-year-old, at least, maybe even a 12-year-old!"

She bit her lip to keep from laughing and instead answered with mock thoughtfulness, "You know, you might have a point…"

"Tha—" he began but she went on as if she hadn't heard him, deadpanning, "You're not an 8-year-old; you're more like a hyperactive puppy. After all, you do remind me a little of Hooch, although Hooch was probably potty-trained."

"That's not fair! I am potty-trained! I'll have you know I've been potty-trained for at least… 15 years now. Alexis started training me very early on."

She laughed and he joined her but their mutual amusement was briefly cut off as she heard the tone to indicate another call coming in and glanced at the caller ID. "As fascinating as your potty-training history is, I need to go. My dad's calling."

"Oh, okay. Say hi to your dad for me and I'll talk to you later."

It was so juvenile but she immediately wondered if he meant that he planned to keep calling her even though she would be seeing him again in person in just a matter of days. More, she wanted to keep talking to him on the phone. "Night, Castle." She pressed the button to switch the call over. "Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Katie. Sorry I missed your call earlier but I can see there's nothing to worry about. If your voice is any indication, you had a good day."

She blinked. Of course, her dad did know her better than anyone else but still, was she so obvious? "It wasn't bad. We closed our latest case." Talking to Sofia's parents about what had happened had been hard, the senselessness of the murder, but talking to Castle—laughing with Castle in that way he somehow managed to bring out in her—had lifted her spirits.

"Good for you. One more family that has answers."

The thought of her mom's case, never far from the surface when she talked to her dad, returned and she turned her head almost unconsciously to look towards the office, where her mom's murder board was on the shutters. "Yeah."

"You do good work, Katie. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad." She smiled softly, not for the first time so thankful that her relationship with her dad had been repaired, was as strong as it was now.

"So what's up? I know you're usually too busy to call just for the pleasure of hearing my voice," her dad joked.

She laughed. "I could be calling for that too. Can't I have more than one reason to call you?"

"Of course, so what is this other reason?"

"I wanted to ask if we could take a rain check on meeting up this weekend."

"Yes, that's no problem, Katie. Will you have to work after all?"

She bit her lip. Right, this part might get a little awkward. "No, it's not work. It's just… I made plans to go out of town for the long weekend."

"Are you going to the cabin? It is nice to get out of the city for a while."

"No, not the cabin. I'm going out to the Hamptons."

"Ah, I see how it is. Putting off your old dad since you got a better offer."

"Dad!"

Her dad only laughed. "It sounds like fun. So will you be going with friends?"

"Castle has a house out there so I'll be staying with him," she blurted out in something of a rush and then could have kicked herself. Way to sound casual.

"Oh, I see," her dad said noncommittally and then went on, his voice a little too bland, "I didn't realize that you and your Castle were involved now. When did this happen, Katie?"

"We're not!" she quickly assured him. "We're just friends, really." It wasn't the first time she'd insisted that she and Castle were just friends—she'd even told Tom just that when he expressed some curiosity about her and Castle's relationship early on—but for the first time, the words didn't ring true to her. Of course she and Castle were just friends—for now—and yet, they weren't only friends, not really, not anymore, were they?

She and Lanie were friends but she didn't talk to Lanie every day and wouldn't think anything of going days without exchanging a word with Lanie. It happened often enough as it was since she and Lanie were both busy. Certainly the thought of not talking to Lanie for a few days didn't make her feel oddly… deflated.

So maybe she and Castle weren't just friends anymore; they were… something else, something more. She wanted to be more. She just wished she could be sure this… thing with Castle wouldn't end up blowing up in her face.

"That's what I thought and of course, you told me that a few months ago after that mention of you and Castle in the _Ledger_."

Kate made a face at the memory. "Don't even mention that, Dad."

Her dad chuckled. "I never thought I'd ever see something about my daughter's love life in a tabloid. You have to admit it was a little funny, Katie."

She didn't have to admit any such thing and she wasn't about to. It occurred to her belatedly that if what she was hoping for actually happened this weekend, then her name would undoubtedly end up in tabloids again. Oh god. Could she really do this, get involved with Castle knowing it would mean her private life would become fodder for gossip magazines? Ugh. She felt another stab of doubt.

She hurried to move onto something else. "Oh, Castle says hi, by the way."

"He says hi to me?" Her dad sounded surprised. "Well, that's nice. Say hello to Rick for me too."

She blinked, the use of Castle's first name throwing her off. "Rick?"

"That is his name, isn't it?" Her dad gave a little chuckle at his own quip. "I know, it's a little odd to be on a first-name basis with a man I've never really met but I've heard so much about him from you that I feel like I know him."

Had she really talked about Castle that much with her dad? She did tell her dad edited stories from work, anything humorous that had happened, but it wasn't like she really discussed Castle with her dad. She wasn't exactly in the habit of talking about men or her love life with her dad. She hadn't mentioned Tom to her dad at all but Castle had been around for longer than Tom had been, was more important to her than Tom had been. Wait, that train of thought wasn't exactly helping.

"Oh. Well, I was just on the phone with Castle, talking about the case, when you called, Dad. That's why he said to say hi," she quickly explained.

"I see. So when will I get to meet your Castle in person, rather than just exchanging second-hand hellos?"

After her dad's use of Castle's first name, she was a little less surprised at this than she might otherwise have been but she was still thrown off balance. "You want to meet Castle? Why?"

"Of course I want to meet him. After all, if you're spending weekends at his house, it seems like I should at least meet your Castle."

She blinked, feeling herself flush. "He's not my Castle, Dad. Stop calling him that," she protested rather lamely. She quickly decided to divert the conversation to something less disturbing than the idea of her dad meeting Castle. "Anyway, it was Alexis who actually invited me to the Hamptons so I'm mostly going because of her." Great, and now she'd been reduced to outright lying to her dad, which she tried not to do.

"Alexis, Castle's daughter?"

"Yes, Alexis, Castle's daughter. She said she wants to talk to me about college. She's at a summer program at Princeton right now so I think it's made her start to think about going to college for real."

"Oh, well, that's nice. I hadn't realized that you'd gotten so close to Alexis."

"I haven't, really. I mean, I like Alexis; she's a great kid, like I've told you, smart and mature and well-mannered and I've obviously gotten to know her a little through Castle and then, there was the few days I stayed at Castle's place. But I wouldn't really say Alexis and I are very close. I think it's just she wants to talk about colleges with someone more objective than Castle would be." She thought about Castle and the way he talked about Alexis—no, objective was certainly not the word for Castle where Alexis was concerned. She found herself smiling a little, her voice softening in a telltale fashion she was entirely unconscious of, as she went on, "He adores Alexis and has been complaining that even Princeton is too far away so I'm pretty sure that Castle's advice would consist of telling Alexis she should only apply to schools in the city."

"I see." Something in her dad's tone, something that sounded like suppressed amusement almost, made her blink. What had she said that was amusing her dad? But then her dad went on, more prosaically, "Well, speaking as a father who's been through it, I can say that it's not easy letting your daughter go far away for college. You can tell Rick he has my sympathy."

"You seemed to handle it okay," she smiled reminiscently. "I thought Mom took it harder." Kate remembered her parents helping her move into her dorm room in Stanford and when they had said goodbye, her mom had hugged her as if she would never let go. And Kate remembered with a stab of regret and grief how her younger self had almost squirmed, impatient to free herself from her mom's protracted embrace. She blinked and swiped impatiently at her eyes, as if to dislodge the tears that weren't actually there. It just hurt to remember that now, now when she thought that she would give everything she owned to be able to hug her mom again.

"That's because I didn't let myself cry until after we were in the car driving away," her dad answered lightly, but she could hear the faint trace of melancholy in his voice that usually accompanied mentions of their happy past, times with her mom.

"Really, Dad?"

"We even had to pull over for a second so I could wipe my eyes with a tissue."

"You've never told me that before."

"It wasn't exactly something I wanted to advertise. Anyway, you do certainly make a good role model for Alexis."

She smiled. "Thanks, Dad, but really, I think Alexis is even more mature than I was at her age."

"Even so. And I imagine it's important that Castle trusts you with his daughter." Her dad's voice was so suspiciously bland that it told her what he was thinking, hinting at.

"Dad…"

"What? I'm only saying that trust is important in a friendship," her dad said innocently.

Sure, he was. "Dad, it's not like that with me and Castle," she protested. _Yet. _ What she might be hoping would happen over the weekend was one thing but having her dad know about it was another thing entirely. As close as she and her dad were, there were some things she really could not feel comfortable with her dad knowing or even thinking. "Anyway," she hastily went on, "what do you plan to do over the weekend then, Dad?"

Her dad answered easily and cheerfully and she relaxed as the subject of Castle was mercifully set aside for the remainder of the conversation.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Coming up next, the Hamptons…


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: As promised, the Hamptons and Castle and Beckett seeing each other again. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 10_

For all that Kate had been looking forward to this, her first thought as she parked her car in the driveway of Castle's house—no, not a house, his mansion—in the Hamptons was that she couldn't do this. She felt a momentary impulse to turn her car right around and flee. Oh geez, what had she been thinking? What was she doing here?

She couldn't help but gape. In the city, working together in the precinct and certainly over the phone these last couple weeks, she had forgotten, somehow, just how rich Castle was. Allowed the huge chasm in their financial situation to slip her mind. Of course the mere fact that Castle had a house in the Hamptons, right on the water and all, had been a reminder that Castle was rich but she'd been expecting, well, a house. Even a reasonably large house which, considering property values in the Hamptons, would have been impressive enough. But this—this was a huge house by anyone's standards.

And she didn't belong here. She was just a cop, worked for a living. Even if she saved up her entire yearly salary for a decade, she wouldn't be able to afford even the bathroom of a place like this. Cops didn't vacation in places like this. Cops didn't belong in places like this.

Castle did. He was a multimillionaire, a celebrity, used to dating actresses and models and women who ended up on Most Eligible Bachelorette lists.

They really were from completely different worlds. She must have been crazy, to think, to hope, for even a minute that they could start a relationship and actually make it work.

If anyone had told her even a day ago that she would be on the verge of turning around, she would have scoffed. She didn't get intimidated—or so she would have said—and she wanted this. She'd missed Castle, wanted to see him, wanted to talk to him in person now, after weeks of talking just over the phone every day. And they had talked every day this week, somehow. He'd called the day after the Sofia Fuentes case was solved to ask if she wanted to request any special food or ice cream flavors before he went grocery shopping and she had told him about their new case and then of course, he had called the next day to hear an update on the case. And then yesterday, Friday, he had called to tell her his address—and she hadn't been able to help the silly thrill that went through her because it had so obviously been an excuse since he could have just as easily sent her a text but no, he had called.

So, yes, she wanted to see him, see if the spark of their physical attraction was still there. (Well, no, she knew it would be. It was more wanting to see if it really was as strong as she remembered. Or something.).

But now, she could only wonder what she'd been thinking, to even imagine an actual relationship could work.

But then, the front door opened—and she saw him. Castle. Stepping out into the sunlight, dressed more casually than she was used to seeing, in a t-shirt and shorts. Saw his immediate smile as he hurried towards her.

Kate felt a smile break free and didn't even care that it was a little too wide, too… revealing of the rush of giddiness she felt as she got out of her car.

"Beckett!"

"Castle."

His step faltered a little as he reached her and she hesitated too, sudden awkwardness overtaking her at this first meeting in more than a month. And oh god, he looked so _good_… His t-shirt seemed designed to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders, the fabric lovingly clinging to the muscles of his biceps, and her mouth went a little dry as she stared. She was thankful for her sunglasses that would (she hoped) disguise where her eyes were lingering, on his arms and his chest and geez, if she'd had any idea that those button-downs of his were hiding a torso like this, she'd have given in to her attraction to him a lot sooner.

After seeing Castle nearly every day—and because she'd sworn to herself over and over that she wouldn't be just another notch on his bedpost—she had mostly become inured to his physical attractiveness, trained herself not to notice his appearance, at least for the most part. But now, after not seeing him for more than a month, her built-up immunity to him was gone, and she felt the impact of his sheer physical presence like a full body flush, heat washing through her entire body.

She managed an awkward little laugh and small shrug, spreading her hands instead of doing something stupid like touching him. "Well, I made it." It was an inane thing to say and she could have kicked herself. Could she sound any less at ease?

His smile was a little too wide, his stance just a touch off, telling her that he was nervous too. He was staring too, for long enough to make her feel a little self-conscious. "You're wearing a dress," he blurted out and then winced a little.

It was a simple sundress, casual and not at all revealing, but for all that, she had still found herself wondering as she got dressed what Castle would think of it, how he would react, and now she had her answer. She felt a little thrill ripple through her. He wanted her. And even though he'd never been subtle about his attraction to her, the thought, the knowledge, felt _different_ now. Felt like more than just desire. Because now she knew that whatever else, there really was too much between them to have just a fling. There were too many emotions tangled up with the lust. No, whatever this was between them, it was real and it was just… _more_ than simple lust. How much more, she wasn't quite ready to consider, but it was more.

She managed a small laugh, somehow feeling more at ease with this evidence that he was unsure of himself too. "Nice observation skills," she quipped.

He shook his head a little and laughed with her. "Sorry, I'm being ridiculous. How was your drive out?"

"It was fine, pretty much smooth sailing once I got out of the city." She paused and added with a smile, "Nice place. So, you rich or something?"

Castle acknowledged the tease with another little laugh. "Well, I'm not James Patterson-rich but I do okay."

She bit back a snort—and tamped down another swell of nerves. Yeah right. If this was his idea of doing "okay," then J.K. Rowling was only a small success with Harry Potter.

"Let me get your bag and then I can give you a tour."

She'd packed just one duffel since it was only for a few days. "I can manage," she demurred.

"Please, Beckett, I'm trying to be manly and chivalrous," he huffed and easily relieved her of her bag.

She had to laugh, something inside her unwinding. This was still Castle, her best friend. Wait, what? Since when had she started to think of him as her best friend? And yet… it was true, wasn't it? They talked on the phone every day; she trusted him—trusted him with her vulnerabilities, the hard parts of her job; she'd become more used to talking to Castle about her job, even her mom, than she was with Lanie even.

"Beckett, you coming?"

She blinked back to reality to see him quirking a brow at her and managed a smile. "Yeah, sorry, I was just admiring the house."

"It is a little much," he admitted, "certainly more space than necessary considering it's usually only me, Alexis, and my mother out here, but it was on sale when I was looking and Alexis was really excited at having both a pool and access to the beach." He paused as he ushered her inside. "Welcome to Chez Castle in the Hamptons."

Kate just had time to register that the interior of the house, starting from the entrance foyer, was as enormous as she'd guessed from the outside but somehow also managed to have more of a homey feel than she would have expected from its size. But then before she could really look much more, she found herself greeted by Alexis.

"Detective Beckett, you made it!" And before Kate could do more than smile, she was a little startled to find herself being hugged by the girl. Alexis had always been friendly but she'd never hugged her before.

Alexis released her, beaming at her. "I'm so glad you could come, Detective."

"Hi, Alexis. I'm glad to be here. And call me Kate, Alexis."

"Kate, then," Alexis agreed, dipping her head a little. "I picked out your room so I hope you like it."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. This place is just gorgeous," Kate answered, smiling at the girl.

"We've had a lot of fun here, right, Dad?" The girl addressed her dad but kept her eyes and her smile on Kate as she led Kate up the stairs, with Castle following obediently behind. Alexis blithely shared some memories from past summers as she led the adults down the hall before stepping into a room, waving Kate in. "Here's your room, Kate. I picked it so you'll have a view of the bay. My room's just next door and Dad's room is at the end of the hall. Grams's room is across the hall."

Kate carefully did not allow her eyes to look towards where Castle's bedroom apparently was, sweeping over what was to be her room instead. It was a large room, decorated mostly in shades of sea green with some blue and with a distinctly nautical feel, appropriate for the Hamptons, with the bedspread covering a queen-size bed featuring a pattern of seashells. Full-length windows afforded an expansive view of the sparkling water of the ocean beyond. "This is beautiful, thanks, Alexis."

"We'll give you a few minutes to get settled in and then meet you downstairs for the rest of the tour," Castle suggested.

"Sounds good, thanks."

Castle and Alexis retreated, leaving Kate to look around, fighting off another wave of nerves. God, this place. It might be surprisingly homey and welcoming in atmosphere but it was still huge and so obviously expensive.

Kate didn't take much time to herself to settle in, only checked the location of the bathroom, and a quick peek next door confirmed that it was Alexis's room and she would need to pass Alexis's room in order to get to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Not that she had plans to do any such thing. (_Liar._) She really wasn't, not with Alexis around. It would be too… awkward.

She made her way back downstairs in a matter of minutes and was greeted cheerfully by Alexis, who instructed Castle to finish preparing their lunch, while she gave Kate the tour. Castle pretended to grumble about it but obeyed.

The tour of the rest of the house proved to be oddly reassuring, for all its size, because it had clearly been furnished to be cozy and a home for a family, not a showpiece of ostentation, helped along by the fact that Alexis peppered her tour with stories of past summers out here. Castle teaching her to swim, making an enormous pillow fort that took over half the ground floor, the time Alexis surprised Castle making him jump so hard he lost his balance and toppled into the pool, Castle doing a cannonball jump into the pool making an epic splash that had wet Martha, much to her displeasure. It was all evidence, if Kate had needed it, of just what a close and affectionate family the Castles were, but what surprised Kate a little was that there was no mention of anyone else, no women, not even Meredith or Gina. Of course Alexis might just be tactfully avoiding any mention of women but somehow Kate didn't really think so.

"Has your mom ever come out here?" Kate blurted out before she could think better of it.

Alexis looked a little surprised but answered easily enough. "No. By the time we got this place when I was 5, Mom was already gone and had moved to California and since then, she only visits us in the city or we go out to California to see her."

"Oh. Sorry," Kate managed, a little abashed now. "I didn't mean to pry."

"You weren't prying. I—" But whatever Alexis had been about to say was interrupted as Castle called out that lunch was ready.

Lunch turned out to consist of sandwich fixings, potato salad, and fruit, and passed quickly as Alexis chatted about her summer program at Princeton.

"It sounds like you're having a great time," Kate said and dropped a quick wink at Alexis before asking, "So are there any cute boys in the program?"

Castle choked on air. "What? No! No no no, that's crazy talk, Beckett. Alexis is only there for the academics, to get a leg up for college, right, pumpkin?"

Alexis ignored him, flushing a little, and fiddling with her fork as she admitted, "There are a few."

Castle fell into a coughing fit at that and Kate exchanged smiles with Alexis. "Yeah? What about the boy you met in the city before you left? Carter, I think your dad said his name was?"

"Oh, yeah, Carter, he's there but he's not in any of my classes and we're not in the same dorm so I've only seen him in passing in the halls."

"Good," Castle inserted. "Now, how about we take a walk on the beach to let our lunches settle and then we can spend the afternoon in the pool?"

"We'll talk more later," Kate said aside to Alexis before turning to Castle. "Okay, Castle, boy talk is over for now, I promise."

"Actually, Dad, do you mind if I don't join you and Kate for the walk on the beach? I want to check my email and stuff."

Castle pretended to study Kate. "Yeah, I suppose I can tolerate having just Beckett for company for a while," he drawled.

Kate pretended to shove him at that. "I think the bigger question is whether I can put up with you," she returned.

"Behave, you two," Alexis instructed with mock seriousness.

"Yes, Miss Bossy," Castle made a face at his daughter but it was belied by the pride dancing in his eyes as he looked at her and the way he dropped a kiss on her hair.

They made quick work of cleaning up the table and then Alexis disappeared upstairs and Castle gestured to Beckett to accompany him outside, leading her past the pool and down a few steps that led to a small gate which opened up onto the beach.

Kate slipped off her sandals as they stepped onto the sand that was warm from the sun. It was a private beach, as Castle had mentioned, but it being the middle of the day and a holiday weekend, they weren't actually private because there were plenty of people on the beach up ahead. She could hear the faint sound of talking and laughter over the sound of the waves.

They exchanged a few desultory comments at first, idly swapping stories of the past couple days, Castle inquiring as to the boys' plans for the holiday weekend, but after a while, they lapsed into silence as they walked side by side.

The silence was comfortable, rather surprisingly so. It occurred to Kate that when Castle wasn't talking—and he was more capable of being silent than she'd realized—he made for a surprisingly restful companion. Certainly she didn't feel the need to talk and break the silence.

It was pleasant, peaceful even, to walk on the sand beside Castle, seeing the stretch of the white sand before them, the sun sparkling off the water, the clear blue of the sky overhead. "It really is gorgeous out here," she murmured after a while.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed a little absently and she shot a glance at him to see that he'd been looking at her, catching him as he looked up and away, looking around in his turn. She felt herself flush a little but then he was continuing, his tone becoming quieter, thoughtful, "I love it out here, the privacy, the serenity. No one here cares about who I am so I can just be me, can spend time with Alexis, without anyone else bothering us." He paused and slanted a smile at her. In the sunlight, his eyes were a clearer, deeper blue than that of the sky or the ocean. "Present company excluded, of course."

She nudged his elbow with hers at that, returning his smile, but didn't otherwise respond. She could understand what he meant. She knew enough of the Hamptons to know that its denizens included enough celebrities for Castle, as an author rather than, say, an actor, to be considered small fry in comparison and while his house wasn't small by any standards, even along the stretch of beach they were on, she could see that it wasn't among the largest or the grandest. As odd as it sounded to call any mansion with seven bedrooms modest, out here, it really seemed as if it was.

And she appreciated that Castle was down-to-earth enough to want that, value it. Out of nowhere, she found herself remembering Kyra, what she'd thought of Kyra, that she was _real_, unlike Castle's ex-wives. At the time, Kate had assumed that even if Castle had wanted someone real back then, he didn't, wouldn't, anymore; certainly, his ex-wives, with whom he'd been involved more recently than Kyra, had seemed to prove that. But now, she wasn't so sure. She remembered what he'd said about finding real friends when you were rich and famous.

No, she thought, guessed, that he would—did—want someone real. He might not have been very wise in picking his ex-wives but then again, she supposed there was a reason they were his ex-es. And even this last second try with Gina hadn't lasted very long.

"Can I ask you something?" she blurted out before realizing she was going to.

He glanced at her. "Sure."

She bit her lip. Was she really about to do this, completely break the embargo they seemed to have placed on talking about their personal lives? Even a week ago, she wouldn't have—but it seemed easier now, somehow, after talking so much on the phone. They knew each other better now, as strange as that sounded, since after working together so closely for the last year, it wasn't as if they hadn't already known each other pretty well before this summer had started. "Did Gina like it out here?" What she really meant was why his and Gina's relationship hadn't worked out but that was a step too far.

The mention of Gina—out of the blue, it must seem to him—made him blink, the corners of his lips briefly tightening.

Her momentary spurt of boldness had passed and she opened her lips to tell him he didn't need to answer but before she could, he spoke. "Yes and no."

It was her turn to frown a little but he clarified before she could debate if she was going to ask what he meant. He kept his eyes carefully focused away from her, watching his steps in the sand or looking around them, anywhere but at her, as he answered, not quite fluently, "She liked the house, liked that I had a place out here, liked the society out here; she just wanted more of it, I guess you could say." He paused and then added, "She wanted, well, that." He made a gesture to a large house just ahead of them on the beach that was clearly hosting a party; they could hear the pounding music, the cacophony of voices and laughter, see the throng of people.

It wasn't exactly explicit but she remembered what Castle had just said, about how he liked it out here because no one cared who he was, which allowed her to put the pieces together and read between the lines. Castle came out here for privacy with his family; Gina wanted him to socialize more which, Kate could guess, would also have the benefit of getting his name out there, a form of free advertising as it were. Which told her rather more about their relationship as a whole, since Gina was his publisher and had a vested interest in his career.

She remembered seeing Castle at his book launch parties and thinking that he was in his element but it occurred to her now that for someone who seemingly liked the glamorous party lifestyle, he'd been more than happy to spend most of his time in the not-at-all-glamorous precinct and from what she'd seen of him, he didn't seem to actually go to parties often. Seemed happiest at home with his family.

The first time she'd ever gone to the loft, when she'd first seen him as the man who played laser tag with his daughter and lived with a mother who greeted her with a beauty mask on her face—she hadn't quite believed that man was the real Castle but now, she could see that it was. The kind of man who would want someone real.

"Want to head back to the house? Alexis will be waiting," was all she said in response.

He turned around with her, his expression easing as it became clear that they weren't going to talk more about his private life. And headed away from the raucous party, the kind of life he didn't want out here and that she had absolutely no interest in.

"It sounds like Alexis really is having a blast at this summer program of hers," she offered, letting the switch of topic to one she knew he liked serve as a tacit apology of sorts for prying.

His expression brightened. "Yeah, she is, although," he added with a narrow-eyed glance at her, "I'll thank you not to imply that it has anything at all to do with cute boys."

She allowed her elbow to knock against his in a teasing nudge. "Relax, Castle. Boys or no boys, Alexis is a smart girl and she's more sensible and mature than you are half the time so I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Only half the time?"

"Point taken, all the time," she amended with a smirk.

He laughed and it was his turn to nudge her. "I think I'm offended," he pretended to pout.

She only laughed and as their hands brushed for what must have been the hundredth time or so as they walked, she surprised herself by slipping her hand into his. It was just easier, more comfortable, she told herself, than continuously bumping into him. (_Liar._) She felt his glance but studiously kept her eyes turned away to look out over the water instead. Her hand was completely enclosed in his, sending heat radiating up her entire arm.

"Anyway, even if you do talk to Alexis about boys, I'm glad Alexis feels like she can talk to you," he added after a moment.

She shot him a smirk. "Even if I tell her stories from my own rebel Becks days?"

"Even if," he agreed. "Tell her whatever you like."

He really did trust her with Alexis, didn't he? What her dad had said about that returned to her and while she had shrugged it off at the time, it occurred to her, belatedly, that it really did mean something. He was, after all, the same man who had called Juilliard to ask about Alexis's violin teacher, who had asked her to run a background check on Alexis's prom date. But he trusted her, no questions asked. A little flare of warmth coiled around her heart.

"Of course," he added, "I don't promise not to try to bribe Alexis into telling me all your rebel Becks stories."

"I think my secrets will be safe with her."

"You would have my own daughter keep secrets from me?" he huffed in pretend outrage.

She grinned at him. "Yup," she said, deliberately popping the 'p' sound. Less comfortably, her hand in his was starting to feel a little sweaty; it was perhaps a little too hot to be holding hands like this.

He made a face at her, pretending to pout, opening his mouth on what she guessed would be a show of whining.

But before he could, she slipped her hand out of his and elbowed him to get his attention. "Race you back to the house," she threw the challenge out and then she took off, laughing as she heard his shout of surprise and then his footsteps behind her.

It was awkward running on sand and she stumbled a little but managed to keep her balance and thanks to her—okay, fine, unfair—head start and the element of surprise, she managed to reach the little gate to Castle's backyard a couple steps ahead of him. But just a couple steps as he caught up to her almost immediately, grabbing her hand and tugging her back so she almost stumbled against him.

"That wasn't fair," he accused breathlessly.

"Don't be a sore loser," she tossed back with a smirk—only to realize belatedly just how close they now were. She wasn't quite pressed against him, had caught her balance to that extent, but she was still close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, feel their uneven breaths mingling. Close enough that she could see the way his eyes darkened as they darted down to her mouth. Her lungs momentarily seized.

"Dad? Kate? Are you guys back?" The sound of Alexis's voice calling made them both start and break apart and when Alexis appeared at the top of the stairs in another second, there was a decorous foot or so of space between them.

"Hey, Alexis," Kate managed to sound casual, if a little out of breath. "Yes, we just made it back."

Alexis smiled easily, thankfully not appearing to have noticed anything. "I thought I recognized you guys walking back. Ready to swim now?"

"Sure, sweetie," Castle answered, having apparently regained control of himself and let Kate precede him up the stairs.

Kate joined Alexis, thankful for the heat of the day to account for the flush she could feel on her cheeks, even as she tried to calm her rioting pulse. Alexis was here so she and Castle weren't actually alone, she really needed to do better about remembering that. Because whatever might happen between her and Castle—whatever she wanted to happen—it certainly couldn't happen in front of Alexis.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: They wouldn't be Castle and Beckett without some UST, right? Thank you all for reading and reviewing!


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: More UST ahead.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 11_

Kate did own a skimpy bikini but for this first visit to the Hamptons—first? When had she become so sure she'd be coming back to the Hamptons with him?—and mindful that Alexis was going to be there, she hadn't packed it. Had brought instead her more conservative one-piece swimsuit. Which still revealed more skin than she'd ever shown Castle before. Except no, that wasn't true either, was it? When he'd rushed into her old apartment after Dunn's bomb had gone off, she'd been naked and he'd seen her then, just a quick glimpse but still. So really, there was no need to suddenly feel so self-conscious.

She was being silly, she told herself. But even so, she wasn't quite comfortable enough to traipse through Castle's house in just her swimsuit so she wrapped a sarong around her waist in a makeshift skirt before she made her way downstairs to rejoin Castle and Alexis.

They had both beaten her down and as she walked down the stairs, she heard the sound of a splash and then Alexis letting out a little squeal followed by the sound of Castle's laugh. Alexis was already in the pool, appeared to have just dived in because she was pushing her wet hair away from her face.

Kate's steps slowed as she neared the glass doors leading out to the pool and then stopped entirely, her feet momentarily forgetting to move as she got her first glimpse of Castle in his swim trunks. He was turned mostly away from her so she could only see his back but even that was a sight well worth savoring. The broad expanse of his smooth skin, the muscles of his shoulders and his arms, his delectable butt. Her hands almost itched to touch, feel the solid warmth of him against her palms.

He was blowing up a beach ball and as she watched, he tossed the colorful ball at Alexis. "You know, I was thinki—"

Whatever he'd been about to say was lost forever as that was when he saw her and just stared, his mouth parted mid-word as he completely lost his train of thought. She felt heat scorch her cheeks at the dazed and desirous look on his face. And could only wonder, a little fuzzily, how it was that she could have this effect on him, who was so used to being surrounded by beautiful women. He looked at her as if he'd never seen a woman before, as if she was the only woman in the world.

The beach ball came flying through the air and hit him on the side of the head, making him blink, and return to reality, an awareness of his surroundings, helped by the sound of Alexis's laugh. "Come on, Dad, Kate!"

Kate pulled herself together enough to toss him a smirk. "Yeah, come on, Castle, staring is still creepy, you know."

He narrowed his eyes at her before he turned away to splash his way into the pool while Kate untied her sarong and dropped it on one of the lawn chairs before approaching the pool.

"Last one in the water's a rotten egg," Castle called out and she threw him a look, trying to look exasperated at this piece of childishness.

"Really, Castle? What are you, five?"

He smirked at her and the mischief dancing in his eyes gave her a moment's warning of his intent.

"Don't you da—" she began only to have her words cut off by a gasp as one sweep of his arm sent a wave of water splashing over her.

She sputtered, more from surprise than anything else. "You're a dead man, Richard Castle," she threatened as she stepped into the pool.

He promptly retreated behind his laughing daughter. "You wouldn't kill me in front of my own daughter."

Alexis laughed and ducked away, leaving Castle unshielded, dropping a wink at Kate since Castle couldn't see it from his position behind her. "She did warn you and you still splashed her, Dad, so I think you deserve whatever's coming to you."

"Alexis!" Castle yelped in an _et tu Brute_ tone.

Kate shot Alexis a conspiratorial grin before she sent a wave of water splashing over him in turn, drenching his hair and making him nearly choke on a mouthful of water.

He wiped his eyes clear of the water streaming down his face and gave her a look that promised retribution. "You're in for it now, Beckett," he warned and with that, the battle was joined, Kate and Castle splashing water at each other again in the first salvos of what became a full-fledged water war that drew in Alexis too, joining Kate in throwing water at Castle.

It was ridiculous and silly and the most childish thing Kate had done in years—Castle started it!—but it was also just _fun_, the most fun Kate had had in years too.

The war only ended when Alexis distracted Castle with a constant barrage of splashes, allowing Kate to sneak around behind him and dive underwater to grab his ankles with her hands and yank, pulling his legs out from underneath him and sending him falling face first into the water with a startled shout that was cut off by a mouthful of water. He came up gasping and spluttering and generally looking like a drowned rat in a way that had Alexis collapsing into gleeful laughter.

He wiped the water out of his eyes with one hand and lifted his other arm into the air. "Truce! Truce!"

"Do you surrender, Dad?"

"I surrender, disloyal child," he pretended to grumble but a grin was threatening to break free.

"Now we're even for the way you ambushed me last time in laser tag," Alexis returned pertly.

He made a face at her for that. "I don't think it's fair to have the two of you gang up on me." He turned to Kate. "And you shouldn't be encouraging my own daughter to turn against me."

"Alexis made up her own mind whose side she wanted to be on," Kate tossed back, giving him as much of a look of wide-eyed innocence as she could manage while she pushed her soaking hair away from her face.

"Don't be such a sore loser," Alexis added in mock admonishment even as she grinned into his face as she looped an arm around her dad's neck, using him as a floatation device by resting her chin on his shoulder as she floated beside him.

With Alexis so close, Castle couldn't keep up his pouting display and laughed.

Kate's smile softened, a little flare of warmth blooming in her chest, as she watched the two of them. With the two faces right next to each other as they were, it was easier to see Alexis's resemblance to her dad, not just in the bright blue of her eyes but in her smile, the way her eyes crinkled a little at the corners when she smiled so broadly, Kate could see the traces of the Castle legacy like a blurry reflected image.

It was a fleeting moment of peace, of familial affection, but then Alexis dunked her dad's head under the water and swam off laughing as he came up sputtering, again. He straightened up to his full height, shaking his head rather like a dog as he stood, the water now only coming up to just below his chest.

Kate's eyes lowered, following the water streaming down his torso, as warmth of a completely different kind surged inside her. She wanted to chase the water down his chest with her hands, then her mouth. Wanted to feel that chest against hers, over her, surrounding her as he pressed her into a mattress—or the floor—or just any flat surface would do.

How had he hidden a build like this under his button-downs and she was starting to think he ought to be banned from ever wearing any shirts at all. Although, on second thought, maybe not because if he did, then she would never be able to focus on anything else and she didn't exactly like the idea of all the women whose eyes would be drawn to him even more than they already were.

The sound of a gasp and a splash from somewhere just a couple feet away as Alexis resurfaced brought Kate back to reality and she managed to drag her eyes away from Castle's chest, her gaze getting snared by Castle's, the smirk on his lips. Oh shit, he'd caught her staring—no, ogling him—and she felt herself blush and abruptly turned away, ducking her head under water in an attempt to cool her cheeks. Stupid, stupid, she shouldn't be ogling Castle when his daughter was right there, she scolded herself, making herself swim away, putting some much-needed distance between her and Castle.

By dint of will, Kate kept her eyes away from Castle, focusing mostly on Alexis as the safer one to watch.

After the water war, the remainder of their time in the pool was spent more sedately—well, at least on Alexis's and Kate's parts—swimming a few laps back and forth or floating lazily, but Castle did insist on doing one cannonball dive into the pool, making Alexis give a little shriek of surprise as she was doused by the resulting tsunami.

"Dad, some warning next time," she scolded.

Castle grinned unrepentantly at her. "Where's the fun in that?"

Alexis blew out a breath, pushing her wet hair away from her face. "Da-ad," she drew the word out in some exasperation and met Kate's eyes. "See what I have to put up with?" she appealed with exaggerated dismay.

Kate hid a smile. "Yeah, he's really just an overgrown child, isn't he?"

Castle huffed. "I'm right here, you know."

Alexis gave Kate a quick impish wink before turning back to her dad, widening her eyes in a show of innocence. "We know that, Dad. What's the point of making fun of you if you're not there to hear it?"

Kate snickered while Castle pouted.

"I don't think you're my favorite daughter anymore."

"I'm your only daughter, Dad, you don't have a choice," Alexis returned airily.

"She has a point, Castle," Kate inserted.

Castle narrowed his eyes at Kate, pointing a mock threatening finger. "You, stop encouraging her."

Kate only grinned and swam lazily away from him, resisting the urge to move closer. She might have self control but she wasn't that much of a masochist either.

They lingered in the pool for another hour or two, until the afternoon was well advanced, the sun dipping closer to the horizon. Afterwards, they settled on the lawn chairs to rest and get some sun. She didn't intend it but Kate found herself drifting in and out of a sun-induced nap. She drifted awake some little time later to the sound of Castle's and Alexis's hushed voices, discussing what to have for dinner, she realized after a moment. She opened her eyes, straightening up in her chair, which made both Castle and Alexis glance over at her.

"Had a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?" Castle greeted lightly.

Kate hoped the sun provided enough excuse for the heat she felt creeping into her cheeks, blushing not so much because of the teasing epithet but because of something in his tone that she could only describe as latent tenderness. She didn't think she'd ever heard it before in his voice and she suddenly knew that whatever Castle felt for her, it was deep and it was real, so much deeper than she'd ever imagined. Her heart flipped in her chest.

She had to swallow before she could speak, hoping she sounded casual and like her usual self. "Yes, thanks. I guess the drive and then swimming tired me out. So, did you want help with dinner?"

Castle waved a hand at her. "No, no, you're a guest so you don't have to do anything. You and Alexis stay out here." He pulled a grimace of mock dismay. "You can even talk about boys and I definitely don't want to stick around for that."

"I'll come in and set the table in a bit, Dad," Alexis volunteered.

Castle's smile softened in the way it usually did when he looked at Alexis. "Thanks, pumpkin." He bent and dropped a quick kiss on Alexis's hair and then he retreated, vanishing into the house.

Kate felt rather self-conscious left alone with Alexis. She liked Alexis of course but at the same time, she hadn't spent that much time with the girl on her own either. And Kate wasn't exactly accustomed to spending time with teenagers in general. "What did you want to talk about regarding college?" she asked and then inwardly winced. That had come out sounding a little too much like an interrogation, her tone too brisk. Shit. Sometimes she wondered if she'd completely lose the ability to carry on a normal conversation with non-cops and it wasn't as if she'd ever been the most gregarious person to begin with. She forcibly softened her tone. "Your dad said you wanted to talk about colleges."

Alexis gave her a faint, almost shy smile. "Yeah. I wanted to ask, you went to Stanford, right?"

"Yeah, for the first two years."

"Only for two years? What happened then?"

Kate hesitated for a moment, almost flinching at some of the memories, but answered honestly. "My mom died and after that, I transferred to NYU to be closer to my dad."

It was Alexis's turn to wince, looking stricken. "Oh, sorry, I didn't… think about that."

Kate gave the girl a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Alexis. I'm not that fragile."

The girl's expression eased. "No, of course not. Dad always says you're the strongest person he's ever met."

He said that? To his daughter? "Your dad talks a lot, doesn't he?" she responded, trying to sound dry and not betray the stupid flutter in her chest.

It worked, as Alexis gave a small peal of laughter. "He does but don't worry, everything he says about you has been good."

"Your dad exaggerates."

"I know that too," Alexis returned before sobering. "Anyway, I wanted to ask what you think about going far away for college, the way you did. This summer at Princeton, it's been great and getting to see what dorm life is like but I can't decide if it's a good thing or not, that it's so close to home. I mean, Dad's been too busy with his book tours to come visit much but that's only because it's summer and if I go to college close by, he'll probably want to visit every week, at least. It seems like it won't be that much different from high school if I go to a school close by. So, how did you decide where to go for college?"

It was possibly the longest speech Kate had ever heard Alexis make and an indication of how much the girl really was worried. Kate knew from her previous conversations with the girl how serious and thoughtful she could be but even so, it was still a little surprising that Alexis certainly didn't have Castle's impulsiveness.

And Kate cared about Alexis and respected her enough that she took a minute to really think about her answer, even if it did cause a few pangs. "For me, it was about freedom and I thought going far away gave me a better chance to really live my own life, away from my parents and everyone who knew me." She quirked a small, self-deprecating smile at Alexis. "I thought I was being such a rebel, going to the opposite side of the country from my parents, but even so, I was pre-law at the time so I still planned on following my parents' footsteps."

Alexis's expression had softened with immediate sympathy but she had the tact not to comment, only asked, "Did you like it at Stanford?"

Kate smiled automatically. "I did. It's a great school with a beautiful campus and I had a lot of fun there, met a lot of different kinds of people."

"Do you think it's better to go far away for college, then?"

"I can't really answer that one way or another," Kate answered honestly. "There's no right or wrong choice, really, as far as staying close or going far away. It's different for everyone and also, college is what you make of it. Even if you go to a school at the ends of the earth, it won't mean much if you spend most of your time inside your dorm staring at the walls, you know what I mean? You can go to school next door and still get a lot out of it as long as you try and seek out new experiences, meet new people."

Alexis looked thoughtful and nodded, her face serious. "That makes sense."

Kate smiled and reached over to pat the girl's arm. "You're going to do fine, Alexis. You're smart and sensible and it's not like you have to make any decisions tomorrow. You have time to figure this out."

Alexis gave a flicker of a smile but then sobered, glancing back at the house, the window through which Castle was visible in the kitchen. "I just can't decide, you know? Sometimes I think I need to go far away but then, the idea of actually going so far away for months at a time kind of scares me." She paused and then added, her voice lowering, "And I'd worry about Dad."

Kate turned her head in turn to look through the window to Castle, a faint smile tugging at her lips, as she noted that he appeared to be bopping his head to some tune as he worked in the kitchen. She turned back to his daughter. "You know, Alexis, as silly as your dad can be, he is an adult and you can't decide something like where to go for college based on your dad. It's your life, not his, and he'd probably be the first person to tell you that."

"No, I know," Alexis agreed, looking and sounding older than her years. "But I do wonder sometimes. Dad's life has pretty much revolved around me my entire life and it's not just that, but Dad's a people person. He's not very good at being alone and Grams is so busy and out so much and she's, well, Grams, so it's not the same."

"I can understand that," Kate concurred. Leaving aside Martha's and Castle's relationship dynamic, Martha was still Castle's mother so she would not—could not—really serve the purpose of providing company for Castle, not really. "But…"

For once, though, the teen went on, almost as if she hadn't heard, although admittedly, Kate was feeling her way cautiously in this unexpected conversation. "It's partly why I asked Dad to invite you out here this weekend too."

This twist made Kate blink.

"I mean, I did want to talk about colleges," the girl hurriedly explained, flushing a little. "But also, well, I think Dad's been lonely this summer so I thought he'd appreciate having more company than just me to talk to. It's more fun too. Besides," she added, "I know Dad's missed you."

Apparently, it wasn't only the adult Castle who had the not-that-common ability to fluster her and make her blush, Kate thought, not that coherently. "I, um…" Nope, she had nothing. What could she say? She couldn't deny it and she couldn't-wasn't about to admit she had missed him too.

Alexis flashed a quick smile, apparently comfortable enough to find some amusement in Kate's flusterment. "Plus I wanted to thank you."

"If you mean for talking to you about colleges, you don't have to. I'm happy to talk to you anytime."

"No, not that. I mean, yes, that too but also," Alexis shrugged a little, looking a little self-conscious now. "I'm just glad Dad met you and started to shadow you and everything."

"I didn't get much of a choice about him shadowing me," Kate responded rather wryly.

"Maybe not," Alexis acknowledged with a little smile twisting her lips, "but you didn't kick him out and haven't killed him yet."

That surprised a brief laugh out of her. "No, I haven't killed him yet and that's a surprise to me too," she quipped.

Alexis grinned before sobering. "Dad probably hasn't said—he doesn't like to talk about it and he'd probably be a little annoyed at me for telling you—but he was stuck for a long time after he finished _Storm Fall_ last year."

"Stuck?" Kate echoed, a little confused.

"Had writer's block," Alexis clarified. "He's been stuck before, with chapters or scenes, but it's usually just a few days, maybe a week or so, but after he killed off Derrick Storm, he was blocked for months." She turned to look over at her dad through the window, a small smile appearing, and Kate glanced over and smiled too at the sight of Castle, who had (for some reason) decided to place a dishcloth on his head, rather than slung over his shoulder in a more normal position. Crazy man that he was.

"He was really down about it and I was starting to worry because when Dad gets down, he—" Alexis hesitated before going on, looking a little guilty, "he goes out more, looking for distractions, and, well, he gets impulsive."

"I get it, Alexis," Kate filled in mildly, the girl's hedging and her expression making sense. Obviously, Alexis didn't like even skirting this close to seeming to criticize her dad and Kate could understand that.

Kate remembered some of the mentions of Castle on Page Six in the months before the _Storm Fall_ book launch party. She was starting to understand Castle better, she thought. His going out, playing up the celebrity playboy persona, wasn't a sign that he was happy or wanted that kind of life; it was what he did when he was unhappy about something, a coping mechanism. It wasn't the way Kate herself reacted; she shut down, retreated into herself and hid in her work, when she was unhappy, but she and Castle were different people in that sense. But a coping mechanism was a coping mechanism, and that she understood.

"But then, he met you." Alexis brightened up. "And yeah, I still worry that he'll get hurt, getting himself into dangerous situations, but I realized that he's happier now. He hasn't had writer's block as much so he's writing more, which helps, but it's not just that. He likes going into the precinct and working with you. It makes him happy."

In her mind, Kate heard Castle's voice telling her that she had changed his life forever and thanking her for being a real friend. And now, his daughter, who was probably the person who knew Castle best, was essentially telling her the same thing. But what really struck her at the moment wasn't any thought of her effect on Castle but the stark and startling realization that she could say the same thing about Castle. She had acknowledged that having Castle around made her work more fun, even easier, but somehow it wasn't quite the same thing as thinking that Castle made her happier. But it was true; he _did_.

For months, even years, after her mom's death, Kate had sometimes thought—feared—that she would never be happy again, could never be happy again. It had taken years before she'd reached even a measure of peace, contentment, with her life, stopped feeling the crushing sense of loss hanging over everything. Even now, she was too busy, generally too focused on work, to spend much time dwelling on her personal happiness; she didn't exactly expect it for one thing. But now, the thought was out there and she could see that Castle really had made her happier. Having him around had given her something to look forward to every day; he'd brought real laughter and fun into her life. He'd become her best friend, somehow, someone she could talk to, someone who was on her side.

"I think it's because he likes mysteries and is having fun playing at being a cop," Kate tried to demur, although she knew her blush was belying any attempt to play down how personal this was.

Alexis smiled faintly but went on, "It's not just that, though. He's… changed since he started working with you. He acts more like himself." She made a face. "That sounds weird, but you know what I mean, right?"

"I know what you mean," Kate agreed, mostly to help Alexis out but also because she did see Alexis's point but it occurred to her that Alexis might be wrong. It wasn't that Castle acted more like himself but that he'd actively changed. She had thought that she was the one who had changed in the last year or so, to go from hating him (mostly) to, well, not hating him at all but maybe, they had both changed. She had softened, rediscovered some of her long-buried sense of fun. And he wasn't the jackass he had been, barging into her life, prying into her mom's case. She thought about what he'd said during the Coonan case, that he would do anything that she wanted, including nothing, and she knew he'd meant it. The man she had first met would not have been willing to stop shadowing her after the Coonan situation either. So yes, Castle was still silly and a little immature and he could still be irritating but he had changed too, become a little more serious, more responsible. Maybe he was more like the version of himself he was with Alexis, with less of the jackass façade but she didn't think it was only that. Castle had, well, grown up a little.

The sun was dipping lower, closer to the horizon, so it was starting to shine a little too directly into their faces to be comfortable, indicating that it was time to go inside, but Alexis lingered, glancing back towards the house.

Kate automatically followed Alexis's gaze, finding the subject of their conversation, still in the kitchen. He had removed the dishcloth from his head and as if to prove that he was more grown-up, was to all appearances, focused on his task which appeared to be cutting up what she guessed were vegetables.

"Your dad cooks a lot, doesn't he?" she found herself asking.

"Yeah. Not so much anymore since he's busier and Grams and I can both help out too but Grams wasn't always around when I was little and even when she was around, she's not a very good cook, so he used to cook every day. He's good at it." Alexis paused, wrinkling her nose. "Well, mostly. He comes up with weird combinations sometimes when he tries to get too creative. He put chocolate on a steak once, which didn't turn out well, and he put marshmallows into a salad but at least that time, I could just pick the marshmallows out and still eat the salad."

Kate had to laugh. That did sound like Castle.

Alexis flashed her a grin. "Kate?"

"Hmm?"

After all this, now the girl looked a little uncomfortable, almost shy, as she cut her eyes away and fiddled with the edge of her towel. "I know you and Dad are just friends now and I don't mean to butt in but, um, do you like my dad? Because I know my dad really likes you and, well, for the record, I'd be okay with it."

Kate froze, feeling her cheeks go up in flames from this direct question. She bit her lip. "That's… a little personal," she finally demurred lamely.

Alexis threw her a small smirk that had Kate trying not to gape. "That wasn't a no," she noted blithely. "Anyway, I can see it in your face when you look at him."

With that, the girl flitted off, disappearing into the house and leaving Kate to stare.

Definitely Castle's daughter.

And it wasn't a bad thing so there was no reason to freak out, she told herself. She hadn't really considered it but of course, Alexis's opinion was important. It might not be Alexis's decision but it definitely mattered to know that Alexis would be supportive when Kate and Castle got together—and it had become a question of 'when' and not 'if.'

And it would be soon. The voice of her doubts, her fears, getting softer, drowned out with everything she learned about him, every time she looked at him.

Kate looked towards the house again, to the kitchen window, where she could just make out Castle's form, just a silhouette this time, emerging from behind the refrigerator door. Warmth coiled around her heart. A ridiculous reaction considering the distance and how little she could actually see of Castle but it didn't seem to matter. Yes, definitely soon–this weekend.

She pushed herself to her feet, wrapping her towel around her waist and picking up her sarong, so she could return to the house—and Castle. Somehow, that was the most important part, the central focus of her thoughts. Always Castle.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading and reviewing, especially those reviewers whom I can't thank directly.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: This chapter ended up being substantially longer than I was expecting but considering what happens in it, I think you'll all forgive me.

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 12_

Castle blinked awake and then made a face as he saw that it was still early, not even 8 a.m. yet. Which was really ridiculously early to be waking up on a holiday when he was on vacation. But the sun was already streaming past his curtains and, well, on second thought, he was surprisingly alert and even more surprisingly cheerful at that hour.

Okay, so it wasn't that surprising he was feeling cheerful. It was because of Beckett. A parade of images, memories, from the day before streamed through his mind and he found himself smiling dreamily up at the ceiling. It had been a good day—a great day—and he was just happy and so very hopeful. Because Beckett was _here_, had agreed to spend the weekend with him in the Hamptons, and then as if that wasn't enough, she had _held his hand_ when they were walking on the beach (and he'd been hard-pressed not to react like some teenage boy holding a girl's hand for the first time). And he'd seen her in a swimsuit, which was arguably the hottest thing he had ever seen and she was definitely the sexiest woman he had ever seen in his life.

But what really stood out and lingered in his mind wasn't the memory of her in a swimsuit so much as it was the image of her smile, all her smiles. It was the way she'd smiled at him as they ate dinner with Alexis and afterwards, when they'd all watched _Forbidden Planet_ together. (Alexis's choice, because he had trained her well, but he'd been delighted to discover that Beckett liked the movie too. He hadn't thought that he could fall any deeper for her than he already had but apparently he was wrong.)

Beckett had smiled a lot over the course of the day, more than he'd ever seen before, and not just the small, closed-mouth smiles like she was trying to hide her amusement, which were the smiles he'd seen the most often until now, but her wide, happy smiles, the ones that lit up her eyes with dancing sparks of green like emeralds on a forest floor (_oh, that's just sickening, Rick_). But the smiles that really lingered in his mind were different, more… open somehow, sometimes tinged with something he would almost call uncertainty or even shyness in anyone who wasn't Beckett. Smiles that made her look younger and softer, smiles that hinted at more. Smiles that made him want to kiss her. Okay, that wasn't exactly right—he always wanted to kiss her. No, these smiles… made it look as if she wanted him to kiss her. Smiles that made him think maybe she cared about him too.

And he had all of today to spend with Beckett—and Alexis, of course.

He smiled again and cheerfully completed his morning ablutions, pulling on shorts and his Captain America t-shirt, in honor of Independence Day. It was still early but going down now would allow him to have coffee ready for Beckett and then prepare a full breakfast feast for his two favorite people.

He discovered that he would probably need to revise at least the first part of his plan when he left his room and discovered that Beckett's door was open. And from what he could see, she was already up and presumably downstairs. Bother, he'd forgotten how ridiculously early Beckett tended to wake up.

She was downstairs. He found her curled up on the couch in the room just off the kitchen with a book and a half-full mug of coffee beside her, barefoot and wearing a purple shirt and denim shorts that made her legs look endless. It occurred to him that this might be his new favorite sight, Kate Beckett, so relaxed and comfortable in his home. He'd seen some glimpses of relaxed, off-duty Beckett in the short week she had spent at the loft after her apartment had exploded but this was even better.

He'd never thought he was much of a leg man but the sight of Beckett's legs had him rapidly revising his opinion. He could imagine spending an entire hour appreciating Beckett's legs alone, touching and caressing every inch of her incredible legs with his hands and then his mouth, finding any sensitive spots she might have.

He didn't think he'd made any noise but whatever it was, maybe just her scary cop instincts, he only had to take another few steps forward to come close to entering the kitchen when she looked up and she… Not smiled, smiled was at once too strong and too commonplace a word to describe her expression when she saw him. He couldn't think of a single word to describe it, could only think that her expression lightened in some way, the corners of her lips just barely easing, her eyes brightening. So no, she didn't smile but he decided then and there that he would do anything in order to see that expression on Beckett's face every day for the rest of his life.

He honestly wasn't sure how his legs retained the ability to move even though his brain seemed to have been struck dumb but move, he did, entering the kitchen.

"Morning, Castle."

He finally managed to regain some control of his wits, enough to answer. "Morning, Beckett. You're up early for a holiday."

She shrugged a little. "Force of habit."

He pulled a pout for her benefit. "I was planning on resuming my coffee-making duties but I see you've already taken care of it."

She lifted her book and pointed it at him in a vaguely accusatory manner that had his pulse ratcheting up. "That reminds me, we need to talk."

Words guaranteed to send a chill down any man's spine. Oh god, now what had gone wrong? And just when he'd been feeling so happy and hopeful too. "Uh, we do? About what?" he asked, trying not to sound squeaky with alarm.

"What is it with you and coffee machines? It's not enough that the machine you got for the precinct doesn't seem to like me very much but then, your coffee machine here is even more ridiculous, if possible."

The coffee machine? He exploded with a laugh that was as much due to relief as it was amusement and she narrowed her eyes at him, although now he could see the faintest hint of humor in the set of her lips.

"It's not funny. The coffee machine looks like you took it from the Starship Enterprise and can communicate with satellites in outer space, in addition to making coffee. Do you know how long it took me to figure out how to make the stupid machine work?"

He sternly got his laughter under control and assumed an expression of preternatural solemnity. "Um, no."

"15 minutes! It's a freaking coffee machine; it shouldn't be so complicated that it practically requires a graduate degree in engineering to figure out how to use it."

He gave up and burst out laughing again. She was playing with him and this piece of facetiousness in the serious, straitlaced Detective Beckett was absolutely delightful.

"Stop laughing at me, Castle," she ordered but now, even she couldn't keep her expression straight or make her tone sound like her usual crisp self.

He managed to stop laughing by dint of will, turning it into a cough instead. "Sorry?" he offered. "I can show you how to use the machine."

"I figured it out, no thanks to you," she huffed.

Not quite, he noted, a quick inspection of the coffee machine's settings enough to tell him that she'd messed up the settings from what they usually were. But he was learning wisdom in the ways of Beckett (slowly) and didn't comment on it. "I see you didn't save any coffee for me," he pretended to grumble instead.

"I was too relieved to be able to make my coffee; I didn't even think of you. Besides, I'd hate to overstep and usurp your coffee-making duties."

Yeah, she was teasing him and he adored it. This was what he wanted every day, he thought, Beckett teasing him over their coffees.

Speaking of their coffees, he made something of a production out of resetting the coffee machine as he prepared to make another pot for himself (and no doubt, Beckett too) and knew, although he didn't say so aloud, that Beckett was sneakily watching him as he did so. So she would be able to make her own coffee in future. And why was he already planning for Beckett to visit in future? (_Whoa, slow down, Rick._) But he knew, even as he thought it, that it was futile. His hopes had always been leaps and bounds ahead of reality where Beckett was concerned.

Once the coffee machine was percolating away, it was his turn to pin Beckett with a look, although he was, sadly, aware that his look wasn't nearly as effective as hers. "Now I have a question for you. What were you and Alexis talking about before dinner yesterday?"

A faint flush crept into Beckett's cheeks at the question and he noted it with interest and some curiosity. He'd assumed they'd been talking about colleges, as Alexis had said, but he couldn't imagine what about a college talk would make Beckett blush.

"Come on, Castle, that's not fair. You're asking me to betray your daughter's confidence."

He pasted on his best beseeching expression. "Please? I promise I won't tell."

"Nuh uh," Beckett denied in a little sing-song, a smirk playing over her lips.

Wait. It occurred to him that maybe Beckett's blush hadn't been embarrassment but guilt. Oh god. His instinct to tease died to be replaced by worry. If it was something Alexis didn't want to tell him, it couldn't be good, right? "Tell me it's nothing bad. I don't have to worry, right?"

Beckett's expression sobered, that instantly terrified him, and she paused before answering, "I don't know. I told her she should experiment a little, sneak out and go to raves, drink, do drugs."

He gave a gasp and was only exaggerating a little when he staggered back, clutching his chest dramatically. "Beckett! Are you trying to kill me?"

Beckett laughed out loud. Evil woman that she was. "I thought you trusted Alexis more than that."

He huffed. "I do. But she's a teenager and I don't trust any other teens around her not to drag her into trouble."

Her expression softened. "I don't think you have anything to worry about with her. She's a good kid, smart, sensible, and caring."

He knew he was beaming with the same delight he always felt whenever anyone praised Alexis in his hearing. "Yeah, I lucked out with her. I barely had to do much more than stay out of the way since she practically raised herself."

"You sell yourself short. You've done a good job with her, Castle. You're a really good dad."

Something in her tone, her small smile, made his heart thump in his chest. She looked at him as if… well, in a way that soothed some of his niggling insecurities, the voices of doubt that told him he wasn't enough, hadn't done enough for Alexis. Wasn't good enough for Beckett. For once, he was the one at a loss for words, wasn't sure what he could say to properly express how much her words meant to him, the knot of emotion in his chest. Instead, he fell back on humor, their usual default. "Do my ears deceive me or did you, Detective Beckett, just pay me a compliment?"

She shot him one of her Detective-Beckett-is-not-amused looks. "You're still annoying too."

"But you like me anyway?" he asked in a deliberately wheedling voice. It probably didn't say anything good about him but it was such fun to tease Beckett sometimes.

She rolled her eyes—ha, there it was! "Don't push it, Castle." Her tone was pure vintage Beckett too.

He subsided, content. Call him crazy but he had irrationally missed the sight of Beckett rolling her eyes at him. At least when it was accompanied by the tiny closed-mouth smile tugging on the corners of her lips, as it usually was now.

They were silent for a couple minutes after that but then Beckett spoke up, offering, "Alexis just wanted to ask about my time at Stanford, if I would recommend going far away for college."

"And you told her she should stay as close to home as possible?" he asked hopefully.

She gave him a look. "No, I told her there was no right or wrong answer to whether someone should go far away for school and that she had lots of time to think about it so she shouldn't worry."

"Thank you," he said, entirely seriously now. It occurred to him that even more than Beckett being a good role model, which she was, it helped because Beckett, too, was a generally serious person, as was Alexis. He knew that he tended to impulsiveness and his optimism meant that he usually didn't dwell on possible consequences before making a decision but assumed that decisions would turn out okay. But Alexis wasn't that kind of person; even when she'd been a little kid, she had faced every decision, no matter how small, whether it be what to have for dinner or what to wear, as if the fate of her life depended on it. He tried and he liked to think he knew Alexis as well as any parent could know their teenager, but in a lot of ways, Alexis's way of thinking about things was foreign to him because he was so temperamentally different.

Beckett gifted him with a real, soft smile. "Anytime, Castle."

For a moment, the air seemed to thicken or maybe that was just because he was finding it hard to breathe but then the coffee machine made the beeping sound that announced the coffee was done and they both blinked.

He turned away, busying himself with preparing his first cup of coffee, before turning to her. "Can I top you up?"

She passed him her mug with another flash of a smile. "Yes, thanks."

He refilled her mug, being sure to prepare the coffee to her preferences, before handing it back. She accepted the mug with both hands, lifting it to take a sip, her eyes fluttering closed.

And he felt a ridiculous flare of something like jealousy at the coffee because he wanted to make her to look at him the way she looked when she drank coffee. So dreamy and satisfied. He also felt an abrupt surge of arousal because his wayward brain couldn't help but wonder if that was close to what she'd look like after sex.

Her eyes opened and she caught what he was sure had to be an odd expression on his face as he stared and she quirked her brows at him.

He took refuge in his own cup of coffee, taking a hasty sip. Caffeine would help him get more in control, right?

"Can I ask, how is the next Nikki Heat book coming?"

He set his cup down, for once welcoming the change of topic. "Well, Gina got the edits on the first draft back to me this past Monday and I'm about a quarter of the way through them so the second draft will probably be done in the next couple weeks. It's due in to Gina by the end of July."

"So does that mean you'll be coming back to the precinct at the end of July? Not because I particularly care," she added with elaborate unconcern, "but the boys were asking."

Uh huh. Knowing Beckett as the chatterbox she was (not), he would bet money that she hadn't told the boys that she'd be spending this weekend with him at all. Besides, he knew she wanted him to come back. (Precious knowledge!) She'd told him she wouldn't mind if he came back and from Beckett, that was a declaration that she did want him to come back.

But Castle was learning wisdom and didn't call her out on it. "Well, you can tell the boys that, yes, I plan to be back at the end of July." If not earlier. The sooner he finished up the edits, the better because he'd be able to go back to the precinct, guilt-free and without Gina killing him.

"I see. I guess I'll need to dig up an extra chair to set beside my desk again."

He gave a gasp of somewhat exaggerated dismay. "You moved my chair? But it's mine!"

"It was getting in my way," she deadpanned, holding his pouting gaze for a moment before her smirk broke through. "You are so easy, Castle."

_Only for you, Beckett. _But that was an inside thought. He narrowed his eyes at her instead. "You're so mean, Beckett." He made a show of sulking. "I was going to ask you what you wanted for brunch on this Fourth of July but since you're being mean to me, I'm reconsidering."

"Starving your guest, Castle? That's not polite."

"Bread and water?"

"I can still shoot you, you know."

"Threatening your host, Beckett? That's not polite," he parroted back at her.

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Start cooking, Castle, and if you behave, maybe I'll even help."

He had turned to peer into the fridge but at that, he swiveled to wave a hand at her in honest dismissal this time. "No, no, you're the guest, you don't have to help."

"I'm a guest, not an invalid, so let me help," Beckett insisted, with just a touch of Detective Beckett command in her tone.

And even just that touch was enough to make him fold. Getting maimed was not on his itinerary for this holiday.

"All right, all right, you can cut the fruit."

She rewarded him with a smile that made him think that he would do anything she wanted just for another smile like that.

He duly handed her the fruit to cut while he busied himself with making pancakes, his go-to celebratory breakfast. They fell into an easy silence as they worked comfortably side by side, with her easily shifting when he needed to reach for things and then moving back, all without words needing to be spoken. They worked together in the kitchen as if they'd shared a kitchen for years. It was a little strange, even surprising, but also somehow fitting too, that the way they worked together in the precinct, somehow finding their thoughts in sync, translated into this sort of domestic dance. And it was domestic and peaceful and oddly comforting in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever experienced before. Certainly not with either Meredith or Gina as neither of them had been restful companions. Come to think of it, it might be a level of comfort, of ease, he hadn't felt since… Kyra, those long-ago days splitting time at his apartment or her dorm, meeting on the rooftop for him to write and her to study. They hadn't always talked much then either but he remembered the sense of connection, the feeling of belonging, the rightness of it.

It wasn't exactly news to him that his previous marriages had been mistakes but it suddenly struck him as being sad that even after so many years and two marriages, he hadn't felt that sort of connection again. Until now.

And he was abruptly terrified, all over again, at how deeply he was falling in love with Beckett when he really had no concrete assurance that she felt much more for him aside from physical attraction and liking. And even beyond that, it was terrifying because his past relationships hadn't been successful. Kyra, Meredith, Gina—they had all left him in some form or another and he still didn't have any guarantee that he could keep a woman for long, for good. It wasn't that long ago, after his divorce from Gina, that he'd been convinced marriage, a lasting love, was simply not in the cards for him, for whatever reason.

He started back to reality as he felt a couple drops of water, blinking, to find that Beckett had flicked water at him.

"Earth to Castle. I think you've mixed that pancake batter enough now."

He shoved his doubts and fears behind a padlocked door and managed a smile. "Thanks for the heads up, Beckett."

She gave him an odd look, no doubt wondering where he'd disappeared to, but didn't pry. "The fruit's done so what else can I do?"

"If you want bacon, you can fry some up."

She nodded. "Done."

Alexis appeared just as Kate was finishing the bacon and after that, it wasn't long before they were sitting down to brunch, highlighted (if he did say so himself) by his patriotic pancakes, decorated with bands of red, white, and blue (strawberry slices, whip cream, and blueberries). Alexis gave him one of her bright, beaming smiles, dropping a kiss of thanks on his cheek, and he was happy. Happier still to sit down to the meal because really, if there was anything better than sitting down to eat a home-cooked meal with his two favorite people in the world, he wasn't sure what it could be. It was probably bad and definitely dangerous just how much he was coming to love this family picture they were making.

After brunch was over, they separated for the next hour or so when Beckett said she wanted to call her dad and Alexis claimed a need to review some classwork. Castle dutifully retreated into his office and attempted to work on the edits to _Naked Heat_ with a stunning lack of success. His head was too full of the real Nikki Heat to even think about the fictional one so he gave up and desultorily checked his own emails and Twitter for a bit.

Afterwards, they reconvened and trooped down to the beach. And he thought, again, that he practically wanted to get down on his knees in gratitude to the Fates or whatever higher powers had allowed him to see Beckett in a swimsuit. And then he wanted to worship at Beckett's feet—or more accurately, the sacrosanct place between her legs, at least for a start.

He had to forcibly drag his eyes away from Beckett when he realized that he was dangerously close to his body revealing just where his mind had wandered—to places it should never ever go when his daughter was around. After that, he was glad to plunge into the cold ocean water followed by Alexis and then Beckett. They exchanged a few playful splashes but it didn't escalate into a full-on battle unlike yesterday so the three of them enjoyed themselves in more sedate fashion. Well, mostly. Alexis dunked his head underwater—again—and he retaliated by picking her up and throwing her back into the water, just as he had used to when she was little. She gave a shriek of laughter and for just a few moments, she was his baby girl again, the one who'd called him "Daddy" and insisted he read her a bedtime story every night. He felt one of those occasional pangs of loss he felt when he thought about how grown-up Alexis was. Oh, he adored his teenage, too-grown-up daughter just as much as he had his child but he did miss the child, the baby, she'd used to be. Missed being her main playmate and confidante, missed the way she'd relied on him so completely.

He got a faceful of water for his moment of introspection and a gleeful cackle from his traitorous daughter. The child Alexis was still there because her younger self would have done that too. He shook off his melancholy and growled theatrically before lunging after Alexis, carefully failing to catch her, so she could (and did) laugh as she evaded him.

They stayed in the water until it started to feel too chilly for comfort, at which point they retreated to the beach. And he challenged Beckett to a sand castle contest to see who could make the best sand 'him' in an hour. (What, he was a writer, plays on words were allowed, even required.) With Alexis serving as the judge, she curled up on a towel with a book while he and Beckett went to work. (Trust his daughter to be the only teenager in history to bring a book for school to the beach.)

Castle had assumed that he, with his many summers of experience building sand castles, would win easily, even knowing Beckett's mile-wide competitive streak.

Sadly, it was not so. He lost some valuable time because he got distracted with new, exciting ideas for what to do and at other times, the sand refused to cooperate so his brilliant ideas didn't pan out in reality. Plus he did get occasionally distracted watching Beckett. But still!

Beckett, on the other hand, worked steadily and methodically—and completely ignored him. Which he chose to attribute to her competitive streak and determination coming to the fore.

In the end, Castle judged that his sand 'him' was the more architecturally ambitious and ornate while Beckett's was a fairly standard castle with turrets and towers. But she had constructed a drawbridge of sorts using twigs as the drawbridge "chains" and decorated her castle with shells. And to top it off—the crowning indignity, as far as he was concerned—she had found a piece of red streamer from a party that someone had not properly cleaned up after and fashioned a jaunty little flag for the topmost tower. So even the cardinal crime of littering worked out in Beckett's favor, which was an unfair sign of bias from the universe.

Alexis, being the impartial person and disloyal daughter that she was, studied the two and pronounced Beckett the winner "but it's pretty close, Dad," she added, as if that mattered much.

"Ha, I win!" Beckett threw him a triumphant smirk and he pasted on a pout for her benefit.

Castle didn't disagree with Alexis's verdict (but wouldn't admit it under torture) and he spent the time as they returned to the house volubly pouting over his misfortunes, spending the weekend suffering defeat after defeat, including the water-war yesterday, at the hands of his two favorite women. (Not that he said that last designation aloud.) Alexis laughed and Beckett mocked and Castle put on a display of petulance that would have done a toddler proud. Because he would do far more than that to make these two dearest people in the world laugh; the sound of Alexis and Beckett laughing had rapidly become his new favorite sound.

After they cleaned up and changed, they returned outside, this time to the barbecue to grill burgers and corn on the cob for dinner. By the time dinner was over, the sunset was painting the sky with orange and pink and it was time for his personal favorite part of his July 4th traditions with Alexis, the s'mores.

He was gleeful as he prepared the fire while Alexis, with Beckett's help, got the graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate from the house. He and Alexis got into a recurring mock argument over the proper roasting of a marshmallow, with him (facetiously) insisting a s'more was best when the marshmallow was lit on fire and burnt while Alexis insisted the marshmallow should only be roasted to a golden brown.

Beckett, unsurprisingly, did not contribute to the debate but he noted as they roasted their marshmallows and ate their s'mores that she seemed quiet, subdued, even by Beckett's standards, her smiles a little pale. It was hard to know for sure in the dim flickering glow of the fire and it was possible she was just tired. She'd been up early and had a long day and he had to admit that a full day spent with him and Alexis might be a little overwhelming for someone so accustomed to quiet in her own life. But he couldn't help but sneak frequent glances at her—which he would have been doing anyway because in the firelight, she looked beautiful, mysterious, alluring (he had more adjectives but he stopped at those)—but his admiration was tinged with concern now.

He was perfectly capable of eating s'mores neatly but he deliberately made a mess of it to make Alexis laugh and pretend to scold him. Beckett smiled at his antics but she didn't laugh outright.

After s'mores, they only rearranged their positions in order to watch the fireworks across the bay, sitting on the grass side by side with him in the middle, although Beckett, dispiritingly, kept a few inches of space between them. He wrapped an arm around Alexis's shoulders and she tipped over to lean against him and he pressed a kiss to her hair, feeling his heart swell with so much emotion it made his chest feel tight. He glanced over at Beckett, again, and caught her looking at him and Alexis, a soft, rather wistful expression he didn't think he'd ever seen before on her face before she gave him a small smile and turned to look out over the water instead.

Fortunately (or not), the fireworks started then, at first with a few isolated bursts, but then becoming a steady parade of exploding starbursts of color. He normally kept up a running commentary with Alexis but this year, he was content to watch in silence, as was Alexis.

They all seemed to let out a breath when the fireworks show ended and Alexis was the first one to uncurl and push herself to her feet. "I think I'm going to head back inside, do some reading before bed. Night, Dad, Kate."

"Good night, Alexis," Beckett smiled.

"Night, pumpkin. Sleep well," he responded, tilting his head to accept Alexis's usual kiss on the cheek.

Alexis flitted back into the house, leaving him and Beckett alone for pretty much the first time since that morning.

He glanced at her and again noted that, now that she wasn't smiling for Alexis's benefit, the expression on her face seemed tinged with melancholy. He felt a spurt of worry and really wished he was brave enough to put his arm around Beckett's shoulders. But that wasn't the sort of thing he could do, wasn't where they were in this friendship—partnership—whatever. Asking what was wrong was also on the tip of his tongue but he hesitated, for once. He didn't want to pry because past experience had told him that Beckett did not generally appreciate expressions of concern. He suppressed a sigh. He wanted—oh how he wanted—to be the one that Beckett turned to for comfort in the rare instances when she needed some but he couldn't force her to confide in him. Couldn't force her to do anything since Beckett was quite capable of killing him and he liked being alive, thank you very much. He grimaced out into the darkness. This forbearance thing to suit Beckett was _hard_, damn it. He didn't like it. It was like a new, sophisticated method of torture, not being able to comfort the woman he loved.

"Beckett?" Just her name, in as gently inquiring a tone as he could manage.

Unsurprisingly, Beckett's response, such as it was, wasn't in words. But he heard a faint little sigh, so faint that he suspected she hadn't really intended for him to hear it and he might not have heard it if every particle of his being hadn't been attuned to her so completely at the moment.

There was a long minute of silence and then she spoke, quietly. "You know, the last time I had s'mores was with my parents."

Her _parents_, as in her mom and dad. His breath seized in his lungs. Oh, oh god, she was talking to him, sharing with him another precious piece of her past. If it had been any other situation, any other memory, he would have been tempted to fist-pump in triumph but this meant too much to him for that, was too solemn for that. He only listened as if his life depended on her next words.

"My parents have a cabin upstate," she began after another minute, not fluently, the words coming in stops and starts but they were coming. "It was the summer after I graduated high school. My parents insisted we go out to the cabin for a week, family time before I left for college. I was so… _mad_ at them for making me go." Her breath hitched in a way that sounded as if it could have been the beginnings of a sob and a laugh combined. "I think I sulked for the entire drive up."

She paused again and he risked a glance at her. It was hard to see but he thought he caught a faint sheen in her eyes, the sparkle of unshed tears. He flinched and again thought that he would give everything he owned to be able to put his arms around her, to have the right to hold her.

"There's a small fire pit behind the cabin. And so we roasted marshmallows and made s'mores." A small smile that somehow managed to look almost painful flickered across her face. "My dad teased my mom about how she couldn't eat s'mores neatly, got some smears on her face."

Her breath hitched again and now, her voice shook just a little as she added, "That was the last time we were all out at the cabin together. And I just keep thinking… I was such a brat during that trip; I didn't want to be there and I made sure my parents knew it."

He cracked. There was so much pain, so much regret and grief, in her voice that he would have had to be more than mortal to resist the urge to touch her. He reached out blindly with his hand, finding hers and curling his fingers around it. And after a moment, her hand turned, with an almost shy movement (except that he couldn't quite attach the word, shy, to Beckett), and clasped his.

"Kate…" he finally breathed, her first name slipping out without conscious thought. It just didn't seem right to call her Beckett now; she wasn't precinct Beckett at this moment. "You can't—shouldn't—blame yourself." He stopped, rethinking. Telling Kate Beckett what she could or could not do was not smart. He swallowed a lump of emotion but forged on bravely. "I can tell you one thing for sure. No matter how you behaved, your mom… was happy then, would have enjoyed that trip. I know she did. Because even when Alexis is sulky—"

"Be honest, Castle, you probably sulk more than Alexis does," she inserted with something approaching her usual dry tone and his heart leaped. Snark was a good sign, meant that Beckett was getting to be herself again.

"Maybe," he admitted but then went on as if the interruption hadn't happened. "Even when Alexis is sulky or when she's mad at me, I'm still happy when I'm with her. No matter what else, deep down, I'm always happy when I'm with Alexis, seeing with my own eyes that she's safe and well, and I know your mom would have felt the same way. It doesn't matter how you acted; your mom would have been happy because she was with you, with your dad, and that would have been enough."

She was silent for a long minute and he was suddenly terrified that he had overstepped. What right did he have to tell Kate Beckett how her mom, whom he'd never even met, would have felt? He might be being sincere, telling her what he honestly believed was true, but he was also being… presumptuous.

He heard her release an unsteady breath and then, very quietly, "Thank you, Rick."

Her rare use of his given name had him swiveling to face her and she met his eyes, gave him a fragile little smile, and he momentarily forgot how to breathe at her breathtaking courage, her heart.

And then he wasn't quite sure how it happened, he might have leaned forward, inexorably drawn closer, or maybe she did but however it happened, he found her lips on his. She kissed him. Her mouth was soft and warm against his and then her tongue slid gently over the seam of his lips and he opened for her and…

His brain stuttered to a halt. The world stopped its rotation or just disappeared entirely, as all he was aware of was her, the warmth of her body so close to his, the taste of her, the feel of her lips so warm and giving and perfect.

He could have kissed her forever—he wanted to kiss her forever. But after an endless, blissful stretch of seconds, she drew back slowly, although she didn't go far, stayed close enough that their breaths mingled, their noses almost brushed.

He should say something, shouldn't he? He wanted to say something but his brain wasn't currently functioning properly and somehow he didn't think 'wow' or 'you kissed me' was going to cut it. "Kate…" he finally breathed because her name should be safe enough.

She let out a little huff of breath that might have been from amusement that he felt against his lips and he gave up on words. Instead, he slid his free hand into her hair, tilting her head to give him greater ease of access and kissed her. Softly, slowly, tasting her in a leisurely, lingering fashion as his tongue explored the depths of her mouth.

Somehow he'd always assumed that their first kiss(es) would be passionate, hungry, the sparks of attraction between them finally exploding, but that wouldn't feel right. This wasn't some explosion of lust, it was about more than that.

A boom from a stray firework going off somewhere made them startle apart, ending the kiss before he wanted to (although he never wanted to stop kissing her so maybe that wasn't the right standard.)

"Oh," was all she said after a moment. His heart clenched a little because in addition to looking so hot with her swollen lips and somewhat dreamy expression, she was also adorable.

"Yeah," he agreed lamely. So much for being a writer.

There was too much he wanted to say but before he could find the words or even decide what to tell her, they were both a little surprised as a little yawn escaped her, leaving her looking a little sheepish.

He smiled gently, his fingers gently combing through her hair before he dropped his hand. "You've had a long day," he observed inanely.

"Yeah," she agreed quietly before giving him a small smile. "But a good one." With that, she leaned in and gave him another soft kiss, just a too-fleeting press of her lips to his. "Good night, Castle."

"Night."

She rested a hand on his shoulder as she pushed herself to her feet, not for support but rather—he thought, hoped—because she wanted to touch him, a hope that was proven right when she was standing up and paused to ruffle her fingers lightly through the hair above his ear. If he'd been a cat, he would have purred. Being a man, a manly man at that, he only tilted his head a little into the affectionate caress.

She flashed him a last, soft smile before she turned and disappeared into the house.

And he couldn't even feel that disappointed that he would be spending the night alone without her because she had kissed him and, more importantly, trusted him with another part of her past and let him comfort her. It was enough, more than enough, for now.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: I hope that satisfied! Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: In which there is more talking and more kissing. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 13_

Kate blinked awake slowly, for once sleepiness slow to release her. She was conscious of a general feeling of contentment, even happiness, and then the memory of the night before returned to her. She had slept deeply and surprisingly well, once she'd resigned herself to not sneaking over to Castle's room as she had been tempted to do. But she had honestly been tired. And the possibility of running into Alexis while doing the walk of shame back to her room in the morning had decisively scotched that idea. Anyway, she'd told herself, they would have more time. And she definitely wanted more time and more kissing.

She turned a small smile into her pillow at the thought, the memories that accompanied it. She'd always rather expected it but it was still nice to have it confirmed: Castle was a good kisser. Even the few fairly gentle kisses they'd exchanged had sent tendrils of desire spiraling through her and she could only imagine what Castle's mouth and hands could do when he was really trying to incite passion.

A little shiver of anticipation went through her at the thought and she was abruptly eager to start her day—by which she meant, see Castle again.

She made quick work of her morning ablutions and was downstairs in short order, only to feel a little deflated when she found that again, she was the first one down. At least today, she knew how to work Castle's ridiculous coffee machine so she wouldn't need to waste 15 minutes figuring out how to make a cup of coffee. And this morning, she thought with a flicker of a smile, she might make some coffee for Castle too.

She made coffee and while it was percolating, explored Castle's extensive library—really, she thought she could spend weeks just going through his library—before settling on the couch again with her coffee and the book she'd started yesterday, an amusing mystery that featured the future King Edward VII as an unlikely and inept amateur detective.

She had just finished preparing her second cup of coffee when she sensed or heard Castle approaching and inwardly smiled as she moved on to prepare a cup of coffee for him too.

She felt a little flutter in her chest at the way his expression lit up when he saw her and suspected her smile reflected his. "Morning, Castle."

"Morning." He walked straight to her, slipping his arm around her waist to bring her closer to him, where she went quite willingly, her own arms easing around his back. He really was tall and strong too, she noted rather fuzzily. It wasn't the first time she'd realized this but it had never been so apparent as it was now, as close to him as she was, feeling the strength in his arm banded around her waist. Maybe this was why she felt so safe with him—which shouldn't have meant quite so much since she was the one with a gun and training to protect others, but somehow it did.

His lips curved faintly just before he dipped his head to kiss her. And now his kiss had some of the passion she'd always sensed in him, as he claimed her mouth with enough confidence and thoroughness that it had her knees feeling a little wobbly.

Disappointingly, he broke off the kiss before too long and she had to blink and try to steady herself. Satisfyingly, he looked a little dazed too before his eyes cleared and he gave her a smirk, one of those smirks that had used to be infuriating and now were somehow… cute. (Damn, she had it bad.) "Just seeing you makes it a good morning but kissing you makes the morning even better."

She tried to purse her lips in disapproval of the line but knew she failed. "Do you expect results with lame pick-up lines like that?" she asked, managing to sound dry.

He huffed. "Excuse me, I have never used a lame pick-up line on you."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh, no? How about the first time we met when you told me I had gorgeous eyes?"

"That was not a lame pick-up line. It was the simple truth. You do have beautiful eyes."

Damn it, how was she supposed to even pretend to resist him when he said things like that and worse, looked at her the way he was, his incredible blue eyes so soft and sincere?

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"That's fine with me because I'm quite happy where I am, with you."

She had to smile at that. It was so like Castle too, the seemingly light quip and the double meaning. Happy to be in the Hamptons, happy to be with her physically and with where their relationship was going. And for once, she allowed herself to give it back to him, no more hiding behind teasing. "Me too."

His eyes lit, the curve of his mouth softening, and she wasn't sure who initiated the kiss this time; she might have been the one who lifted her face first before he bent his head but what did it matter? All that mattered was that their mouths met and fused, their tongues tangling, and god, if she'd had any idea he could kiss like this, she had a feeling she'd have given in the first time they'd met, agreed to the "debriefing" and more. His lips left hers and at another time, she might have been embarrassed at the little whine of protest that escaped her but he only skated his lips along her chin, finding a spot just under her jaw that made her gasp. (How did he know?)

She felt his lips curve against her skin—he was pleased with himself—and then he reversed course to return to her mouth, kissing her again, although he surprised her because this kiss was softer, gentle, before he lifted his head and released her. She felt a flash of disappointment but had to acknowledge that he was probably right. They could hardly go any further standing in his kitchen with his daughter right upstairs and possibly coming downstairs at any minute. And they really should talk more about all this. More kissing would have to wait.

"Ooh, coffee!"

He eagerly reached for his coffee while she retrieved her own mug, wondering, not for the first time, how a grown man could sound so very childlike in his enthusiasm.

Armed with their coffees, they perched on the stools at the kitchen counter drinking their coffees in silence. She could get used to this, Kate thought, drinking coffee in the morning side by side with Castle. When she'd first met him, she would never have imagined that the '9-year-old on a sugar rush' man-child could ever be quiet, let alone be a peaceful companion, but she could see now that he could be.

He finished his coffee in meditative silence. "What are we doing?" he finally asked.

Kate couldn't help it; she automatically tensed, an instinctive reaction, as always shying away from an emotional talk. "Drinking coffee," she deadpanned and then could have kicked herself. For all her brave thoughts about them needing to talk, when it came to it, she still felt the urge to evade. Damn it, she would need to do better at this. And it was so stupid too because this was Castle after all, the man she'd been talking to every day for weeks.

For once, it was his turn to shoot her an unamused look. "You know what I mean, Beckett."

His tone was mild but his use of her precinct name had an unaccustomed edge to it.

She took a fortifying sip of coffee before setting her mug down and facing him. "I know. I just—I'm bad at this." _Eloquent, Kate. _

Now, he quirked his eyebrows at her, a glint of humor entering his expression. "If you want a testimonial, you're great at kissing. Exceeded even my lofty expectations."

A laugh bubbled up, surprising her. He did it again, making her laugh and somehow easing some of her tension, giving her a modicum of courage. "Good to know. But I meant that I'm not good at talking about these things."

"This is me, you know. You can talk to me. I'm your friend, your partner."

She met his eyes. "But I don't think we're only friends or even partners anymore, are we?" It wasn't really a question.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Not to me." He paused and then gave her a faint smile. "I'm pretty sure you already know this but to make it clear, I like you, a lot, and not just as a friend either."

It seemed so ridiculously juvenile for two adults to be talking about their relationship in terms of "liking" but somehow, it made it easier. She wasn't sure she had a label for what she felt for Castle but "liking" would do for now. "I like you too." She more than liked him but how much more wasn't something she was ready to think about.

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him smile quite so brightly, his eyes lighting up with so much happiness she felt a little niggle of uncertainty because this clearly meant so much to him, _she_ meant so much to him. He looked as if she'd handed him the entire world on a platter. It was… overwhelming and even somehow intimidating, if that made sense.

It occurred to her that a flip side of her not liking to be vulnerable to anyone else was that it made her all too conscious of the enormity of someone else being so vulnerable to her. She'd never been so aware of it before. She was used to keeping most people at arm's length, used to keeping one foot out the door, and it had worked (well, sort of) before because it also meant that she'd only been in relationships with guys who essentially did the same thing. Will had been fine leaving her for Boston, just as she'd been able to let him go, with a couple pangs of regret but no lasting wound on either side.

That wouldn't work with Castle. Castle could hurt her. He already had hurt her when he'd walked away with Gina at the start of the summer but then, all she had really lost was the tentative hope for something more with Castle. Now, after all their conversations, all that had happened, he could hurt her more. She had a queasy feeling that being with Castle for real for any length of time would ruin her for anyone else and if she lost him, she would be not just hurt but devastated.

She knew she didn't need to fear being another notch on his bedpost; whatever Castle felt for her was very real and very deep. But now, it occurred to her that the knowledge accompanied a fear of a different kind. It was a little terrifying and humbling to know that Castle was so invested in them, in her, already but in an odd way, it was also… reassuring too. If he had the ability to hurt her deeply—and he did—she had the same power over him. She wasn't sure she trusted herself not to hurt him. But maybe that was the trick to a real relationship, one where she didn't keep an escape hatch available. It wasn't so terrifying to fall if someone else was falling with you.

"So we're really doing this, trying for a real relationship? I don't want just some holiday fling with you, Kate."

She'd been quiet for a little too long, she realized, when she heard the note of uncertainty in his tone. He still wasn't sure of her. She reached over to rest her hand on top of his. "Not just a fling, Castle. I want this, want to be with you."

He surged off his stool and tugged her off hers but then he surprised her because instead of kissing her, as she expected, he only wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. Kate willingly sank into his embrace and oh, she could really get used to this too. Being encompassed by his warmth and his strength and his scent. Without her heels on, she fit neatly against him, her head against his shoulder. She turned her face into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, left bare thanks to his t-shirt, and breathed in his scent. She liked his scent, liked everything about being held by him.

She felt him press a kiss to her hair and then his voice emerged, somewhat muffled against her hair. "Play hooky from work."

She drew back a little, just enough to look at him. "What?"

"I don't want you to leave, not when we've finally reached this point. I don't want you to go," he repeated, his expression and his tone so mournful it would have done justice to a sad puppy.

Oh, right, she'd momentarily forgotten that they'd originally planned for her to leave today and Castle would be taking Alexis back to Princeton today.

"Well," she drew the word out slowly, her eyes fixed on the little hollow of his throat below his Adam's apple, "I may have asked Captain Montgomery for an extra day off…" she paused to feather a kiss to that spot—she couldn't resist because that little hollow was strangely beguiling and that wasn't weird, was it—and felt the little shiver that went through him in response as she finished. "He agreed because I worked over the last holiday weekend so technically, I don't need to leave here until tomorrow."

He stiffened a little in surprise and it was his turn to draw back until she met his eyes. "Really? You… planned to stay?"

She shrugged a little. "I hoped?" So maybe it had been a little presumptuous of her. She gave him a teasing little smile. "So are you going to kick me out today or can I stay an extra day?"

"You can stay," he blurted out almost tripping over his words in his eagerness. He opened his mouth to say something more but then paused, his face assuming what she'd mentally taken to calling his 'detective' expression (not that she'd ever tell him), the expression when pieces of evidence fell into place. "Wait. You said Montgomery agreed because you worked over the last holiday but the last holiday was Memorial Day."

Oh crap. She hadn't meant to let that slip, should have known Castle would pick up on it. He could make deductions too.

A faint frown creased his brow as he studied her for a moment and then went on. "I thought you spent Memorial Day weekend with Demming." For the first time since Tom had appeared on the scene, Castle's mention of Tom's name was without the edge of jealousy.

She couldn't quite help the little grimace at the mention of Tom. "I ended up not going."

"Why?" His tone was one of simple curiosity rather than anything else.

After everything—she and Castle were here now, together, after all—it really shouldn't have mattered, should have made it easy to tell him but 'should have' didn't make it so. She dropped her arms from around him, stepping back, and just barely managed to keep from crossing her arms in a defensive posture. Stupid but the memory of Castle walking away from her, her public humiliation, still stung. And it wasn't like she'd ever liked talking about her personal life as it was.

But, she reminded herself, she had resolved she was going to try to do better at this sharing thing. And if she and Castle were going to be in a real relationship and make it work, they had to be able to talk about things.

"I broke up with him," she answered succinctly.

"I know but I thought, assumed, that was after you'd spent Memorial Day with him."

Because she had deliberately let him assume that. She couldn't quite meet his eyes, kept her gaze focused on his mouth, his chin, as she went on. "No. It was before that, before your going-away party."

"Before…" He trailed off and she waited for him to put the pieces together, watched as his eyes grew wide with dismay and regret. "Kate, no, tell me I'm wrong," he almost pleaded.

He wasn't. She confirmed it with a slow shake of her head. "That was what I was going to say, when I pulled you out of your party. I was going to ask you if the invitation to come out here was still open." She stopped there because it wasn't as if they didn't both know exactly what had happened then to prevent her from speaking.

He shut his eyes for a moment as if he was in pain. "Shit. God, Kate, I'm such an _idiot_. I—" He reached out his hand to touch her but then hesitated, dropped it, as if he wasn't sure he still could—or deserved to—considering what she'd just admitted, revealed. "I'm so sorry."

"No, Castle, you don't have to apologize," she hurriedly added. "It was my fault. I was the one who turned you down. I didn't give you any reason to think I'd change my mind."

"But still… I shouldn't have jumped right to Gina."

His self-recrimination made it easy for her to reach out and grasp his hand, hold it, as if to serve as solid evidence that they were past all this. But even so… She bit her lip and had to ask, not quite fluently, "Why did you ask Gina to come with you?" She wasn't still jealous of Gina—she _wasn't_—but somehow, the sting of the memory wasn't quite gone. She had been so… hopeful… and then Gina had appeared, poised and pretty and so smoothly confident as she slipped her arm into Castle's and Castle's following her cue with the too-cute little-boy smile… And Kate might know _now_ that she wasn't just another woman to Castle but the way he had turned to Gina then had made her feel so… replaceable. Had seemed to prove all her fears about Castle, her misgivings about getting involved with him, had been right.

He winced. "I—uh—didn't want to be alone and then Gina and I were on the phone and when she's in a good mood, she is pleasant company and we get along pretty well and…" He trailed off and winced again as he admitted, looking down at the floor, "I was using her, to try to get over you." He abruptly tightened his grip on her hand as he looked up. "Not deliberately, I didn't think of it that way at the time but…"

Maybe she should have been disgusted or angry at the admission but she wasn't. She knew he wouldn't have deliberately used Gina; he wasn't that type of man. And it occurred to her that what she'd been doing with Tom had not really been much different than Castle's turning to Gina as a second-best. Because she'd essentially been using Tom to avoid dealing with her attraction to Castle, her growing feelings for him. Oh god, they really had been acting out a comedy of errors, as it were. Not for the first time, she wondered how two reasonably intelligent adults could have been so good at getting in their own way.

But they were past that now. They _were_.

She pictured that moment in the bullpen again deliberately, exploring a sensitive spot, and found that somehow, something about Castle's admission, his explanation, had soothed most of the sting in the memory.

"Me too," she blurted out, before she'd quite realized she was going to. "With Tom, I mean." She made a small, self-deprecating grimace. "I liked him but I always knew it wasn't real. He was just… easy—not like that," she threw him a quelling look, forestalling whatever he might have done or said in response. "I meant, uncomplicated. He was safe. Like Will, I guess," she added after a moment. _And you weren't._ But even now, even after all this, she couldn't quite bring herself to say that out loud.

"And I wasn't," he finished her thought, with just a hint of a cautious question in his tone.

Oh. Somehow, they had reached a point where he could complete her sentences not just when it came to case work but when it came to their relationship. It was… reassuring. They really were on the same page now. And he clearly knew her that well.

She met his eyes, so blue and so clear, so… honest. He was all in—she knew he was—and, well, so was she. She had to be because if she'd learned anything at all in this past month, it was that resisting him, getting over him, was not happening. She wasn't sure she knew how to _do_ that, go all in for a relationship, but at the very least, she wanted to try.

"No, you weren't," she agreed quietly. She paused, trying to find words. Was she really about to do this, bare her heart like this? She looked at him, her eyes tracing his familiar features, his expression. "I told you that I'm not an easy person to get to know," she finally began, unevenly. "I built up this wall inside me, to keep people at a distance… when my mom died. I didn't want to hurt like that again."

His hand tightened on hers, his expression softening even more, but he didn't interrupt, only listened.

"But then I met you. And you were so annoying." Her lips twitched a little as his lips curved into the beginnings of the smirk that had used to be so irritating and had become almost endearing.

And it occurred to her that, crazy as it sounded, maybe it was because she'd hated him—or thought she had—that had really led them here. Because she'd been so convinced he was a jackass, so sure her heart could certainly never be in danger from him, that she'd let down her guard a little. Not by much, of course, but just a crack, enough to tell him about her mom, about her dad's troubles, so relatively early in their partnership. But the crack had been enough, given him just enough of an opening that he'd been able to wriggle his way in further, without her fully realizing it. And by the time she'd realized he wasn't actually a jackass—after he apologized for looking into her mom's case, after he stood beside her in the Dick Coonan case, and then when he volunteered to stop shadowing her—he'd gotten past her defenses enough that she hadn't wanted him to go.

"I didn't want to like you but you just kept surprising me. And somehow, you… snuck in past the outer defenses. You're the first person I've wanted to knock down the wall." She swallowed since her mouth appeared to have gone dry. "I'm not… the easiest person to get close to but with you, I want to try."

"Kate…" he breathed. He lifted his other hand to cup her cheek in a brief caress. "You're right that you're not easy to get to know but easy is boring." He gave her a faint smile. "You know what I thought when I first met you?"

Her lips curved just a little. "That I was tall?" she guessed, remembering his quip about why he'd based Nikki Heat on her.

That got a real, wider smile before sobering. "I thought that you were a mystery I was never going to solve and," he gave her a glimmer of a smile, "in case you haven't noticed, I like mysteries."

A small laugh bubbled out of her. Leave it to Castle to manage to make her laugh even when it felt as if her heart might pound its way out of her chest.

He went on, more seriously. "Even now, after all this time, I'm still amazed every day at the depths of your strength, your heart. You're the most challenging, frustrating person I've ever met but you're also the most extraordinary, fascinating person. And I decided a long time ago that you are worth the challenge." He paused before he finished, with an upwards twist of his lips, "So if you want to try to knock down your wall, count me in. Partners in demolition."

A laugh burst out of her, a surge of affection for him swamping her heart. Only Castle could combine a declaration that had made her heart flutter with a quip that also made her laugh.

"Partners," she agreed and then she kissed him, curling one arm around his neck as she sank into him, into his kiss, feeling her thoughts go wonderfully fuzzy as his tongue slid into her mouth. Mm… addicting, that was the word for it, his kisses were addicting, and she was already hooked.

The kiss broke off when her stomach decided to make itself heard and she felt herself blush hotly as she drew back, clamping a hand over her stomach as if that would scold the stupid thing into quiet submission.

Castle—annoying man that he was—had the nerve to laugh as he turned away towards the fridge. "I agree," he said conversationally, "it's definitely time for brunch. I was thinking of making waffles or would you prefer eggs, scrambled or maybe an omelet? Plus bacon, of course, because no breakfast is complete without bacon, and we have plenty of fruit still."

His patter gave her a moment to get over her mortification. "I haven't had waffles in ages."

"Waffles it is," he declared. "Can you help with the bacon and the fruit again?"

"Sure, Castle."

The simple, mundane tasks helped her relax and again, Kate was somewhat surprised at how… easy it was to share a kitchen with him. It was comfortable. She could imagine the two of them in the kitchen at the loft too, or in her apartment, having their coffees and making breakfast on her off-days… maybe allowing Castle to pull her back into bed afterwards…

It was also distracting. She found herself sneaking glances at him, watching him as he made the batter for the waffles, almost mesmerized by the shifting of the muscles in his forearms, the movements of his hands. For all that he came across as somewhat klutzy in the precinct, in the kitchen, he was different, his hands confident and dexterous.

She couldn't help but wonder what else he could do with his hands, what those hands would feel like on her body. Heat surged through her, spreading like a wildfire, until she had to jerk her eyes away, forcing herself to concentrate on what she was doing, before she cut off her fingers or something.

"Beckett?"

"Hmm?" She paused, glancing at him.

"Will you have dinner with me?"

A small laugh escaped her at the odd formality of the question before she registered the faint signs of tension in his expression, his stance that was slightly askew. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yes."

She had to smile at that but her smile faded as he faced her fully, his expression more serious than she was expecting.

"I want to do this right, Kate, treat you right so will you have dinner with me?"

Oh, this man, this sweet, ridiculous man.

She affected a sigh. "Have a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant with a reasonably attractive man? I suppose I can do that. It'll be a hardship but I'll survive somehow."

He laughed, even as he bridled. "Reasonably attractive! I think you meant, a ruggedly handsome man."

"Oh, excuse me, what I meant to say was…" she paused and he perked up like a dog expecting a treat, making her hide a smile before she finished, "a reasonably attractive and unreasonably vain man."

"Hey! I thought you'd be nicer to me since you like me so much." He pasted on a pout.

"Think again," she quipped. "If you want flattery, you can always try dating one of your fangirls who show up at your book signings."

He gave an exaggerated shudder. "No thank you. I'll stick with you." And proceeded to match action to the words as he caught her around the waist and dropped a quick kiss on her smiling lips.

One quick kiss that turned into a series of quick kisses until she mumbled against his lips, "Castle, watch you don't burn the waffle."

He released her with a little yelp of alarm and turned back to the waffle iron to find that the waffle, while not burnt, was definitely over-cooked, approaching a dark brown. "I'll eat this one. Nice save, Beckett. Note to self: making out and cooking don't mix."

She had to laugh. "Are you just now figuring that out?"

He paused in making the next waffle. "Actually, yes. I've never tried to combine the two before."

She softened, briefly resting her head against his shoulder. It was ridiculous to be so pleased at the idea that Castle hadn't really cooked with any other girlfriend before but somehow she was. She wasn't surprised that neither Meredith nor Gina were the domestic type and it occurred to her that cooking in the loft would also provide greater exposure to Alexis and knowing Castle, he would have protected Alexis from the women he'd been involved with.

He stilled. "Oh crap."

"What's wrong?"

He grimaced. "I just remembered that I agreed to have dinner with friends tonight. My neighbors, Rachel and Chris, thought I'd be moping because of having just dropped Alexis off so they invited me over. Their daughter used to babysit Alexis."

"If they don't mind, I could join you," Kate offered. It would be interesting to meet other friends of Castle's.

He slanted a quick smile at her. "Oh, Rachel would agree; she's already said she wants to meet you sometime for the Nikki Heat thing but no, I'll just call Rachel and tell her I can't make it after all." He paused, shrugging and looking a little sheepish. "I kind of want to keep you to myself today."

Really, it shouldn't be possible for a grown man to be so cute but somehow, Castle managed it. "Well, I suppose I can put up with you," she drawled.

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "You are never going to stop giving me a hard time, are you?"

"Nope. You got a problem with that?"

He grinned and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I suppose I can put up with you," he parroted her words.

Her laugh was cut off by his lips although he kept the kiss short, remembering the waffle this time.

It was while he was pouring the batter for the next waffle that they heard the faint sound of a door opening and closing upstairs, indication that Alexis was now awake and their little bubble of privacy about to burst.

Kate sensed his glance at her and his hesitation and, for once, stepped up to answer his unspoken question. "You can tell Alexis, Castle. I'm not asking you to keep this, us, a secret from your family."

His answer was to kiss her hard, with enough passion to leave her breathless when he drew back all too quickly. "Have I told you that you're amazing?" he husked.

Not for the first time, she wondered what she'd done to deserve the way Castle looked at her. She couldn't believe she really was the amazing, extraordinary person Castle somehow saw but for all that, she couldn't help but react, her heart fluttering. "I did get the impression you thought so," she managed to joke. "You're not that subtle, Castle."

He gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, it might be the world's worst kept secret." He sobered. "Alexis likes you so she won't be an issue."

Kate smiled at this reassurance. He really was sweet. "I'm not worried," she said truthfully.

And she really wasn't, not about how Alexis would react, but also about how their relationship would go. No, she felt… hopeful, happy. Maybe it was just the newness of it all that was making her giddy but she didn't think it was only that. She and Castle were already friends, good friends even, and for all their differences, somehow, they got along. And while she might have residual concerns about her own issues, well, she was still hopeful. Because she wanted this, wanted to be with Castle. And she was well aware of her own stubbornness, her determination, and she suspected that Castle could match her when it came to stubbornness himself. So if they both tried, were willing to put in the effort, then she had to believe they had a good chance of making a relationship work.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers! I love to hear what you all think.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Apologies for not being able to post last week but RL got in the way but here, without further ado, is Castle and Beckett's first date in the Hamptons. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 14_

If anyone had told Castle that he would be eager to drop Alexis back off at Princeton, he would have scoffed and been almost angry at the idea that he might want to leave his daughter.

But then again, he would never have predicted that Beckett would be waiting for him back in the Hamptons. He had invited Beckett to come with him to drop Alexis off but she had demurred, saying she didn't want to intrude on his time with Alexis. And although she hadn't said, he suspected she was also tactfully giving him and Alexis a chance to talk about their new relationship without Beckett's inhibiting presence. (Beckett really was amazing.)

Which was what had brought him to his current state. For one of the few times in Alexis's life, he only listened to her with half an ear, the greater part of his mind focused on Beckett. Daydreaming about their date to come and later tonight but also thinking about their conversation that morning. She really did trust him. Not only with the precious pieces of her past but with her emotions too. He could tell that it wasn't easy for her to be so open; there was tension in her expression, in her frame, but she had still talked to him and it had told him even more than her actual words about how much she trusted him, cared about him. It was enough to have him feeling giddy with happiness and hope.

And all she'd revealed had left him with enough food for thought that he suspected he'd be distracted for days. With regret at how close they had come before he had wrecked everything with his stupid, impulsive decision to ask Gina out to the Hamptons, his stomach twisting with an almost physical pain at the knowledge that he had hurt Beckett then. Hurt her again when he felt as if he would happily spend the rest of his life just trying to make her smile. All he could do was vow silently that he would never hurt her again if he could help it.

He'd been so close to losing his chance with Beckett entirely.

The only good thing might have been that the last vestiges of his jealousy over Demming had been laid to rest for good. The way Beckett had been able to dismiss him as being uncomplicated, safe.

Castle remembered again what she'd said after the Balthasar Wolf case. He hadn't realized at the time that she might have been talking about her own fears, about him, when she talked about the guys who came in and upset the apple cart. How had she put it, _they make you feel alive but sooner or later, you know they're going to let you down so why risk it?_ Beckett didn't trust easily and he hadn't given her much reason to believe she could trust him with the way he'd behaved, falling into bed with Ellie Monroe, flirting with Maddy, turning to Gina immediately after being rejected by Beckett. For that matter, he was honest enough to admit that before Alexis, he might have been just like Balthasar Wolf, the love-them-and-leave-them bad boy, seeking out the next thrill. Alexis had been the one who changed him.

Alexis, who was still talking, well, enthusing over her classwork (of all things) and he really owed her more than the patchy attention he was giving her. He made a concerted effort to focus on his daughter again and it shouldn't have taken quite as much effort as it did because in all honesty, he did love listening to Alexis talk, hearing the way her mind worked.

So no, he would still not say that he was eager to drop Alexis off but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he was relieved to actually reach Princeton and fine, maybe he was a little impatient to get on the road again.

Enough to make him shift his weight as he watched Alexis gather up her belongings, noting again with some fond amusement, that his daughter had somehow felt it necessary to bring a duffel bag, a backpack, a tote bag, and a purse with her for a single weekend at the Hamptons. Especially considering that she kept some clothes at the Hamptons house anyway. It might be one of the few ways in which Alexis resembled Meredith, although he supposed it could also be something she had picked up from his mother too.

He reached out and shouldered the duffel bag and backpack before she could. "I can take these, pumpkin."

"Oh, thanks, Dad." She shot him a quick smile. "I don't know how it is but I think my stuff expanded over the weekend."

"It does seem to happen," he agreed. "Are you all set?"

"Yeah." She grabbed her purse. "I've got everything now. It was a fun weekend but it's kind of nice to be coming back here too."

"Freakish child, to be so excited about summer classes," he teased.

"I know, I'm a constant disappointment," Alexis quipped.

"Certainly a constant surprise."

She threw him a smirk. "Just trying to keep you on your toes."

"And you succeed very well." He nodded at her with mock gravity, making her dimple up at him.

They reached her dorm room and Alexis let herself in, waving him in so he could deposit her bags inside. "Thanks for the help, Dad, and for driving me. Do you want to get a coffee or something before you head back?"

Usually, of course, he would leap at the chance to spend more time with his daughter but today, he hesitated. "Ah…"

She threw him a knowing smirk. "We can just get the coffee to go. I know you're impatient to get back to Kate."

It was, oddly or not, the first mention of Kate since they'd left the Hamptons. He had tacitly let Alexis reach her own conclusion about his and Beckett's new relationship status, not hard since he had found himself entirely unable to resist the urge to touch Beckett in some way as often as he could. Nothing inappropriate, considering Alexis's presence, but a year and more of suppressed longing was somewhat difficult to control, now that he finally was allowed to touch Beckett. Fleeting touches to her back, her shoulder, her hands-and every touch only made him want more. Especially as Beckett herself hadn't tried to bat his hand away or otherwise avoid his touch, only flushed a little (beautifully), a faint smile tugging on her lips.

He'd caught Alexis's eyes after he'd brushed a strand of hair away from Beckett's face, seen her knowing and smug look, but she hadn't commented, tactful as she was.

But once he and Alexis were alone in the car, he hadn't quite felt comfortable bringing up the subject. He was not exactly used to discussing his love life with Alexis, aside from bare mentions of a change in his relationship status. At first Alexis had been too young and more recently, since his divorce from Gina at least, there hadn't been anything to tell. The few women he'd been with since his divorce had been meaningless flings and he never mentioned those to Alexis for obvious reasons.

This relationship with Beckett was different. Not only because it was already destined to be more serious than any other relationship had been—because he was in love with her-but because Alexis already knew Beckett, had forged her own friendship of sorts with her.

"Okay, it can be a quick pit stop," he agreed and then went on, not quite smoothly, "I think you've guessed that Beckett and I aren't just friends anymore. We talked this morning and agreed that we… want to be together." Ugh. He inwardly squirmed. This was awkward.

Alexis gave him one of her 'silly Dad' looks. "Dad, I'm not 5 anymore. You can stop dancing around the subject and of course, I noticed. You're not very subtle."

He relaxed a little at the familiar teasing, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they left her dorm. "A little more respect for your father, daughter," he intoned with mock solemnity.

Alexis being Alexis only laughed and he pretended to scowl at her—failing miserably—and instead dropped a kiss on her bright hair as he sobered. "So are you okay with me and Beckett being together?"

She gave him a bright smile. "Of course. You know I like Kate. She's different than Gina or the women who come up to you at parties." She wrinkled her nose in an eloquent expression of her opinion of said women.

"That's for sure," he agreed, "especially since I'm pretty sure she's allergic to flattering me." And he loved her snark and her teasing.

Alexis grinned at that. "That's a good thing, Dad. You're vain enough."

He made a face at her. "Hey!"

She flashed him an impish smile before it faded, her expression sobering. "I'm happy for you, Dad. I know you really care about her and she makes you happy, doesn't she?"

It wasn't quite a question but he answered it. "Yeah, she does."

"I can tell. Your face just lights up when you talk about her." She hesitated and then added, quietly, "I'm not sure I've ever seen that before."

It was his turn to be thoughtful. "You might not have but Beckett's not the only person who makes me light up. You always have too, pumpkin." He knew that, not only because he was self-aware enough to be conscious of it but also because he had been told before that he lit up when he talked about Alexis. His mother had mentioned it, Kyra had mentioned it, Captain Montgomery had mentioned it once too, come to think of it.

She smiled a little. "That's different, Dad."

"Yes, but you should still know it."

Her expression softened as she briefly rested her head against his shoulder in one of her gestures that reminded him of the little girl she'd used to be, reminded him of her in her shy phase when she'd taken to hiding behind his legs when she was introduced to strangers and even after he coaxed her out of hiding, his pint-sized girl had leaned against his legs. As if he was her bulwark against the world. His heart clenched a little as he briefly felt a surge of nostalgia for those years, for the tiny thing she'd used to be, so wholly trusting and dependent on him.

"I know, Dad."

"Just making sure. You still come first with me, pumpkin."

"Dad, stop being so sappy."

He huffed. Yeah, on second thought, that was what he really missed, Alexis not being a teenager. "I'm trying to be reassuring, Miss Impertinence."

"But I wasn't worried. I know you, Dad, remember? Besides, we were talking about Kate and how much you like her."

"Yeah, I really do," he confirmed quietly. It seemed a little strange and certainly inaccurate to say that he liked Beckett but it would have to do for now. He knew Beckett was nowhere near ready to hear the other 'l-word' from him yet.

"And I think she likes you for you, not for who you are, if that makes sense, and I like that," she went on thoughtfully. His serious child.

Her words seemed to seep into his chest, warming it, joy taking root in his heart. Kate liked him for him—he believed that too—and it occurred to him that outside of his family, she might be the first woman he'd met in years that he could say that about. It was partly why he loved her. Because with her, he knew with a bone-deep certainty that she cared about him for _him_, his real self. He knew Beckett didn't want him for his playboy celebrity status or his fame or his money or his connections. Or even just his looks.

He tightened his arm around Alexis's shoulders, bending to kiss her hair. "How did you get to be so wise?"

"It's a mystery," she quipped.

He laughed. "I would say it's more that you're a miracle."

"I think you're biased."

He shrugged a little. "Guilty as charged but that doesn't make it untrue."

"Da-ad," she drew the word out in mock exasperation and he grinned but decided to stop since he knew Alexis got flustered when he started praising her. He personally thought it was adorable the way she flushed up to her hair until her normally fair skin matched the shade of her hair but his daughter didn't appreciate it, hated how her fair skin advertised her embarrassment so obviously.

They had reached Starbucks and he ordered a latte to go while Alexis got tea. They were still waiting for their drinks when she checked her phone and was immediately texting her response, before giving him a half-apologetic smile.

"My friends just finished their lunch so I told them I'd meet them there. We were thinking of watching a movie or something since we don't have any classes until tomorrow."

Their drinks were ready and he retrieved them, handing the tea to Alexis. "Okay, have fun."

She dimpled up at him. "You too. Have fun tonight with Kate."

He had every intention of doing just that but he didn't want his daughter knowing about it. "Alexis!" he yelped.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Eww, Dad, that wasn't what I meant." She gave a little shudder. "Eww."

"Yeah, yeah, and you, behave yourself," he admonished with mock seriousness.

"Don't I always?" she riposted and gave him a hug. "Bye, Dad. See you in a few weeks."

He returned the hug, kissing her forehead. "Bye, pumpkin." He saw her off with a smile and a wave, his eyes fondly resting on the familiar sight of her red hair almost glowing in the sunlight, waiting until she turned a corner and was out of sight before he made his way back to the car, his steps quickening. For once, any melancholy he felt at parting from his daughter was soon subsumed in the rush of glad hope because tonight, he was going on a date with Kate Beckett.

* * *

Kate had occasionally fantasized about what going out on a date with Richard Castle would be like. Back when he'd been little more than a face and a name in Page Six, idle daydreams about a date with a celebrity that she would never tell Castle about. (The other, more recent, more explicit fantasies she'd had about him she might tell him about, eventually.)

She had imagined a date with Castle would involve her in a nice dress, him looking dashing and handsome in a well-tailored suit. And in the most basic sense, her fantasies had come true. She was wearing a nice enough dress, thankful that she'd thought to pack another sundress, perhaps a little more casual than she would have worn for a date in the city but it served the purpose with her limited options here. And he certainly looked very good tonight, had made an effort and looked every inch the rich, attractive man that he was, his suit jacket showcasing the breadth of his shoulders, the dark maroon of his shirt emphasizing the blue of his eyes in a way that had sparks cascading through her when she'd seen him.

She had imagined that he would tell her she looked beautiful. He did—well, that she looked amazing. But in her fantasy, he'd been confident, suave. In reality, he almost stuttered over the words, his eyes wide and a little stunned as he stared at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world, as if he never wanted to look at anything else ever again. He wasn't suave and she decided she liked that better because it was real. Real and more than any fantasy could be.

She had imagined being taken to an expensive restaurant to be wined and dined. She'd been right about that—and wrong, at the same time. The restaurant was opulent, lit by candlelight and overlooking the water. She'd expected to be taken to an ostentatious place, loud and busy, the sort of place where only people with connections could get a reservation, where just walking in the door was a status symbol. But this wasn't that sort of place at all; it was discreet, elegant. They were shown to a table by the window in a corner that provided an illusion of privacy even as they remained in full view of the rest of the room. Castle pulled her chair back for her and brushed his lips against the curve where her neck met her shoulder, just below her hair. A small shiver rippled through her in reaction and he met her glance with a somewhat crooked smile. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." She tried and failed to purse her lips. Really, he should not be allowed to be so cute.

She had imagined that he would be a charming, attentive date. And he was. But somehow, she couldn't help but think that actually, this date wasn't turning out like her old fantasies at all because she'd been expecting, well, a celebrity and this wasn't like that. He wasn't like that. It was easier, better, in so many ways, in every way.

She still found it surprising, somehow, how easy it was to talk to him. She wasn't sure she'd ever met anyone who was so easy to talk to—and she still found it hard to believe sometimes that the person she found easiest to talk to was Richard Castle, of all people—but there it was.

They swapped stories "from the trenches," as he termed it, with him regaling her with a story from one of his book signings, how the store manager, as a sign of special treatment, gave him a rolling desk chair, probably from his own office in the back of the store, rather than one of the usual folding chairs. Which would have been fine except that one fan had brought her baby with her and Castle had stood up to say hello to the baby.

"Of course you did," she commented, trying to sound dry instead of betraying the warmth spurting in her chest at the mental image of Castle with a baby. She had spent more time than she cared to admit while he was dropping Alexis off at Princeton wandering through the house and peering at all the pictures of Castle and Alexis, finding a few of Castle with a baby Alexis. Pictures that had made her heart go soft in her chest.

"It was a baby! And she was beautiful," he returned.

"The baby or the mom?" she teased.

He threw her a look. "The baby, Beckett. I don't date married women."

Oh, that apparently struck something of a nerve. She filed it away for future reference but said lightly, "I never suggested otherwise; single women can have babies too."

He softened into a smile. "Point taken. She was an adorable baby, had a cute yellow headband on that reminded me of one Alexis used to wear. But anyway, I cooed over her, she tried to grab my nose, it was a very cute scene."

She suppressed a laugh. Oh, she could picture that.

"And then I sat down again. Only I didn't realize that when I stood up, the chair rolled backwards a ways so when I sat down, I slipped right off the seat and landed on the floor instead."

She had to laugh at that, mostly at the mental image of Castle on the floor, combined with the memory of when she and the boys had rigged his chair at the precinct. "I'm sure you fell with all the grace of a drunken elephant," she pretended to commiserate.

"Hey! I'll have you know I can be graceful. You should see me on a dance floor."

Oh, she knew. Unbidden, she remembered dancing with him at the MADT fundraiser last year, remembered the heat of his hand on her back. A thrill of attraction and arousal at the memory zipped down her spine. She had wanted him then too.

"Uh huh, I've also seen you fall on your ass in the precinct," she needled.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "That was because you and the boys rigged my chair and you could have some more sympathy for my poor bruised dignity."

"Oh, it was your dignity that was bruised? I would have thought it was another part of your body."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You spend a lot of time thinking about my body parts, Detective?"

"Yes, thinking about where to shoot you," she deadpanned.

He pouted. "Cruel woman. And just for that, I think it's your turn to tell me a story."

"You want a story, huh?"

Fortunately for her, she was given a brief reprieve and a moment to think as the server returned with the bottle of wine they'd ordered along with a basket of bread, fresh from the oven, and departed after taking their orders.

She chewed meditatively on a slice of bread while Castle fixed an expectant gaze on her. "Story time, Beckett."

"Just keep in mind I'm not the storyteller in this relationship."

He held up his hands. "I think you're too modest but I won't critique, I promise."

"Okay, a story. This was back when I was still a uniform and I was supposed to bring a guy in for questioning as a suspect in an armed robbery but obviously, a police uniform is not exactly inconspicuous so he spotted me from a block away."

"And made a run for it," Castle finished, his eyes bright and eager.

"And made a run for it," she confirmed. "But he forgot to take into account the fact that he was wearing his pants slung very loose and low on his hips, you know the fashion."

He nodded. "Oh, please tell me his pants fell off."

She gave him an evil smirk. "Yes, in fact they did. He started to run and before he'd taken more than a couple steps, his pants slipped right down his legs and tripped him, making him fall flat on his face."

Castle gave a hoot of laughter that had a few heads turning and she flushed, even as she laughed as well. "Oh, that is priceless!"

She nodded, grinning and enjoying the mirth sparkling in his eyes. "It was a very easy takedown after that. But I did allow him to pull his pants back up before I cuffed him."

"Very nice of you, Beckett," he approved with mock seriousness.

"It was for my sake. Nobody, least of all me, wanted to see more of him," she quipped.

He smirked. "Ah, well, we can't all look good with our pants off."

She quirked her eyebrows at him in order to hide the heat that flared through her at the mental image. "Oh, is that what you were thinking when you stole that police horse?"

He heaved an exaggerated sigh, making a face. "Will you ever let me live that down?"

She shook her head, smirking. "Nope," she said, deliberately popping the 'p' sound. "Come on, Rick," she went on teasingly, "learning more about each other is the purpose of a first date, isn't it? So tell me that story."

"I was young and stupid," he offered.

"Not that young. You were about the same age I am now, if memory serves," she drawled.

"Don't say that!" he grimaced with exaggerated dismay. "That just sounds weird."

"It's still true. So, what's the story?"

"You really want to know?"

"Would I be asking if I didn't?" she parried. He was stalling now, wasn't he? Maybe it was her cop training but she didn't like it. Evasion wasn't a good sign. But what was the problem? Sure, he probably wasn't proud of it but it wasn't like she hadn't already seen the police report and he knew she had.

He lifted a shoulder. "Fair point. Okay, well, I was drunk." He gave her one of his adorably sheepish looks.

"Uh huh, I got that part already. The police report said that too," she teased. "Come on, Mr. Bestselling Author, you can do better than that. I already know the main characters: one Richard Castle, mystery writer, and a police horse, minding his own business in Central Park. So give me the rest of the _mise en scène_."

Surprisingly, he didn't crack a smile. He focused his eyes on his water glass and only said, succinctly, "My divorce had just been finalized."

Oh shit. Kate gaped at him for a moment. She hadn't meant—all she'd wanted was to tease him a little, maybe laugh together over his past silliness since she knew he wasn't really that guy. And then this. And clearly, the whole thing—his divorce—bothered him in a way she hadn't realized. He always seemed so… glib when it came to Meredith, even Gina, shrugging off his divorces like water off a duck's back.

It occurred to her belatedly that she ought to have put two and two together. She had already guessed from what Alexis had told her that Castle partying was a sign that he was unhappy and the drunk-and-disorderly combined with the police horse incident should have told her that he must have been deeply troubled at the time. His first divorce would explain it, not just the end of his marriage but the realization that he'd be raising Alexis alone too.

Oh wait. The slight edge to his tone when he said he didn't date married women—adultery had struck a nerve in him which meant… no, it couldn't be—but even as Kate tried to deny the leap her mind had made, she felt a twisting sensation in her gut that told her it had to be true. That was the story that made the evidence make sense. Meredith had cheated on him.

It wasn't as if Kate had liked Meredith on meeting her—she hadn't—but now, she decided she loathed Meredith.

She was normally never one for public displays of affection but in this case, she thought she could be forgiven and reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. Not because he'd sounded angry or even irritated with her for pushing—he hadn't, thankfully—but she still felt rather guilty. She hadn't meant to bring up a painful subject.

He turned his hand over to curl his fingers around hers, providing some reassurance.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Now, his expression eased into a faint smile. "You weren't prying."

He just didn't like to talk about it. It occurred to her that Castle, for all his volubility, didn't actually talk about himself much more freely than she did; his lighthearted patter served as a shield, of sorts, to hide the parts of his life he wanted to keep private. Maybe, in some ways, they weren't that different after all. They both guarded their privacy, just in different ways.

"Still. Ask me something, something personal," she offered. Volunteering to share something—apparently, caring so much about Castle really was changing her.

"You sure?"

She nodded, his question cementing her impulsive offer. She trusted him, not only when it came to sharing parts of herself, but also trusted that he wouldn't overstep, not now, would not ask something she could not answer.

His thumb moved over the back of her hand in a caress. "Actually, there is something I wanted to ask. What made you change your mind?"

She blinked and he explained, "I mean, what made you go from planning to spend the weekend with Demming to deciding to break up with him for me?" His lips quirked upwards. "As much as I'd love to believe you were simply overpowered by my sexual magnetism—and if you were, feel free to admit it—but I don't really believe that. You are way too good at resisting me."

She laughed, any tension at his question dissipating at his silliness. "Overpowered by your vanity, maybe," she drawled.

He made a face at her before he sobered. "Seriously, though, what changed your mind when I'd been such an idiot?"

"You weren't totally an idiot."

"Thank you," he said with mild irony.

"I think… I'd been trying to deny how much I was starting to like you for a while and then, when you said you'd be leaving for the summer, I just… well, I didn't like the idea and then Espo said…"

It was his turn to blink. "Esposito talked to you about me?"

"Yeah. He said… he didn't think you planned to come back at all. Said that you weren't spending all this time in the precinct just to watch me be with someone else."

Something like a wince flickered across his face at that. He really had been hurt watching her with Tom, hadn't he? "He wasn't wrong."

Her hand tightened around his entirely of its own volition. "Were you planning to come back in the fall when you left?"

He made a wry face. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I don't think I'd have been able to stay away forever because I'd miss you too much but if I'd come back to find Demming still in the picture, I probably wouldn't have stayed for long."

"Espo was right, then," she murmured, more to herself than to him, before she added, "he was the one who really made me think and realize that… not having you around wasn't something I wanted to face."

"The feeling's mutual," he said quietly and then went on, more brightly, clearly trying to lighten the serious turn the conversation had taken, "When I get back to the city, remind me to give Espo Ferrari privileges."

"You have a Ferrari?"

He bridled in mock offense. "I'm a bestselling author. Of course I have a Ferrari," he said, as if the two things automatically went together.

"And you didn't tell me?" she asked in mock reproach, quite happy to fall back on teasing.

"You didn't think you knew everything about me, did you? I'm a man of mystery," he claimed.

"If I'd known you had a Ferrari, I'd have started to like you a lot sooner," she joked and then wondered if he would see the humor in it since Castle had probably met more than a few women who really did like him for his money.

But he laughed, extinguishing her flicker of concern. "Seeing my house here did get you to kiss me so I guess I'm not doing too badly," he quipped.

"No, you're not doing too badly," she agreed, smirking. "You're not terrible to be around."

"Thank you, Beckett," he pretended to preen. "I try."

She laughed, feeling a surge of warmth in her chest. Oh, she liked him, liked him so much.

He smiled and lifted their clasped hands to his mouth to kiss her fingers, sending a little tingle shooting up her arm.

But the moment was interrupted by the arrival of their food, requiring them to release each other's hands so they could eat.

The food was delicious, as she'd expected, and by some unspoken agreement, the conversation stuck to light, undemanding topics as they ate. It really didn't seem right to call this their first date, even if it technically was, because they already knew each other so well so none of the usual first date subjects seemed relevant. They just talked and it was like a continuation of the ongoing conversation they'd been having for the last month, maybe even the last year and more, talking about everything and nothing in particular and sometimes falling silent.

Oddly, she found herself thinking about some of her dates with Will. She would have said she was happy with Will, that they had a good relationship, but she couldn't remember feeling this ease with him. Or having so much fun with him either.

She was distracted by the movement of Castle's hands as he cut up his steak and then idly circled the base of his wine glass with one finger, her entire body flushing with heat as she thought about those hands on her body. And he wasn't even trying. (She had never wanted Will this much either.)

In an attempt to get some of her own back, she not-accidentally allowed her shoe to slip off her foot, her toes flirting with the hem of his pant leg and then teasing up his calf until his leg jerked and he shot her a look, his eyes suddenly very dark and very intense. She felt a blush crawl up her cheeks at his gaze and decided discretion was the better part of valor, her foot retreating from its mischievous foray. There was only so much teasing that was fair in such a public place and for that matter, she wasn't a fan of self-torture either.

After that, their conversation momentarily dried up and it wasn't until they were both finished with their meals that it started to pick up again and by the time they were ready to leave, things had returned to their earlier ease. At least for the most part, since Kate was aware that the fire between them had only been temporarily banked but was certainly not extinguished. (She had the nagging suspicion that the fire might never be completely extinguished.)

When they left the restaurant, the sky was still tinted with swathes of pink and orange from the sunset and by some unspoken understanding, they turned towards the pier to walk rather than immediately returning to the car.

It was a warm night but the ocean breeze tousled her hair and whipped at her wrap, making a small shiver go through her and he slipped his arm around her waist while she allowed herself to snuggle closer to his broad warmth.

Mm, she liked this too. After all the time they'd spent walking side by side, it was nicer this way, with his arm around her and her arm around him. Not that they could walk like this when she was on duty, she reminded herself, trying to call up more of her usual Detective Beckett persona.

And with the thought came a little niggle of doubt. Things seemed so easy out here in the Hamptons, a little cocoon away from reality, but how would things work when they left the Hamptons?

"Kate, what is it?"

"Hmm?" She turned her head to look up at him.

"You're thinking very loudly."

She managed a slight twitch of her lips at this. "I was just thinking, wondering, how this would work when we go back to the city."

"You mean, us? How would we work," he clarified and it wasn't really a question.

She nodded and decided to be brave because she had said she would try to be more open, hadn't she? "I just don't want…" she trailed off, trying to formulate the right words, "did you ever worry that trying for this, us, might ruin what we already have? Our friendship, our… partnership?"

For a fleeting second, she worried that he might laugh off her concerns but he proved her wrong—and reminded her she should learn to stop being so quick to doubt him. When it mattered, when it was important, he was serious.

He looked thoughtfully out towards the water for a moment and then he stopped walking, turning to face her, his arm slipping from around her waist—making her feel a ridiculous pang of loss—to grasp her hand instead. "I can't say that I've never worried about that. We're different people and we both come with our fair share of baggage but…"

"But?" she prompted him when he paused.

"I love working with you and it's not about the research or the books anymore. The truth is that my life is just better with you in it. As a friend, as a partner, and I can't imagine that having more of you in my life could be a bad thing."

Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Oh, this man and his words. A small smile trembled on her lips. "My life is better with you in it too," she admitted, not quite steadily.

He didn't quite smile; it was more a suggestion of a smile, visible in the slight upward tilt of the corners of his lips and the way the creases around his mouth deepened. And in the gleam and brightness of his eyes, just barely visible in the twilight.

He tightened his grip on her hand. "And at the risk of sounding like some cheesy children's book, I think we have the potential to be anything we want to be. Friends and partners at work and outside of work."

That pulled a soft laugh from her, her tension dissolving in the face of his humor, as so often happened. It might be his true talent. "Yeah," she agreed quietly. "We'll make it work." They had to make it work because she couldn't imagine giving up on this, him, now.

"We will," he promised. "I think we're going to be great together." And then he tugged her in to seal the promise with a kiss that stole her breath and her wits.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: There will be a smutty insert for the post-date night that will be posted separately next week, for those who are interested. For those for whom smut is not your thing, feel free to skip the insert (since it won't involve any plot) and the next chapter of this story will be posted in the first week of December, after a break for Thanksgiving.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing!


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: For anyone who's interested and might have missed it, the smutty insert between the last chapter and this one has been posted separately and is on my author page. And now, moving on to the morning after….

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 15_

Ingrained habit and a stray beam of sunlight that filtered through the blinds woke Kate up and she blinked a little blearily, before she managed to focus on the clock display on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

(Wait, _her_ side? Fine, yes, her side.)

She wrinkled her nose a little. It was too early, not quite 7 a.m., which was much too early to be awake when she was still on vacation and considering what time it had been when she had finally drifted to sleep. After the long hours of the night which she and Castle had spent idly talking about nothing much, interspersed with more… energetic interludes.

Which reminded her—not that she'd been in any danger of forgetting—of the solid warmth along her entire body. She was deliciously warm and comfortable, not only because the mattress was a marvel, but because of Castle, the warmth from his body draped along her back, the weight of his arm curled around her stomach. Mm, she could definitely get used to this. This feeling of being so… warm and cozy and safe. As if this—here, in Castle's bed, in his arms—was where she belonged.

As if to punctuate the thought, Castle stirred a little in his sleep, his arm tightening a little around her and then he settled again so she could feel the steady puffs of his breath against her neck, her naked back, eliciting goose bumps in its wake. Maybe not the most comfortable sensation but she was reluctant to move just yet so she decided she could get used to it.

Although… Castle's arm wasn't so tight as to be confining. And she'd never seen Castle when he was asleep. She had seen his expression in so many other situations, had a mental catalogue of his expressions in the gamut of his moods, whether it be playful or teasing or hurt or angry or confused or surprised or affectionate. But not asleep. Clearly, it was time to remedy that lack.

She squirmed, shifting by slow careful degrees, since her purpose wouldn't be served if she woke him up, until she was lying on her back and could see him just by turning her head.

She smiled to herself, warmth flooding her chest. He was so… cute when he was asleep, even if the word did seem a little odd because he was also sexy (or maybe that was just because now she knew how sexy he was). His hair was a tousled mess, his face dark with stubble but also looking younger than usual—not that Castle really looked his age at normal times—with his features smoothed out and relaxed in sleep. He wasn't quite smiling but there was just the hint of a curve to his lips that indicated contentment. He looked happy and utterly at peace and vulnerable too.

She remembered what she'd thought—was it only yesterday morning?—that Castle was vulnerable where she was concerned. She had the power to hurt him. She thought about the way he had winced yesterday when she had mentioned Espo's comment about him watching her be with another man.

She had been focused on how hurt and humiliated she had been watching Castle walk away with Gina but after all, she had hurt him first, hadn't she? They were equals in that too, a strange parity but somehow meaningful. They were both trusting the other not to hurt them again and that was important.

Kate wasn't normally one to linger in bed for long after waking up although she could foresee that changing in future. For one thing, any incentive to get out of bed was drastically lowered by the presence of a sexy man in her bed.

She lowered her gaze to focus on his chest and shoulders, what she could see above the covers, and felt fresh heat spiraling through her. It might be a little ridiculous to want him so much still after the night they'd had, how thoroughly they had, ahem, enjoyed each other. But if anything, the night only seemed to have whetted her appetite for more.

And it occurred to her that if she was still here when Castle woke up, she doubted they would leave this bed any time this morning or possibly all day. Although she was finding it a little hard to remember why that would necessarily be a bad thing.

But it would give her a chance to bring him coffee in bed, really sharing their first morning coffees. Oh, she liked that idea.

Her mind made up, she carefully wriggled out from under his encircling arm, grimacing a little as she felt a few twinges in muscles that hadn't been used and quite so vigorously in some time, if ever. She paused, almost holding her breath, when she was standing beside the bed, waiting to see if he would wake up but he didn't, only stirred and snuffled a little (adorably) before sleeping on.

Once standing, she surveyed his room, feeling some heat prickle in her cheeks as she observed the haphazard way various articles of clothing were scattered all over from his jacket just inside the door to her underwear carelessly flung onto the floor beside the bed. Yeah, they'd been in a hurry. (More than a year of flirting and foreplay, a voice in her mind spoke up, so no big surprise there.)

Her dress was probably already hopelessly wrinkled from spending the night crumpled on the floor but she paused to drape it over a chair on her way to retrieving his shirt, slipping it on. It would do as a cover-up of sorts since she wasn't quite comfortable traipsing through his house completely naked, even knowing that they were the only people in it now. Besides, she realized belatedly, it helped make it easier to leave Castle—silly to feel this pang of loss at the mere idea of leaving his room—easier to be surrounded by his scent embedded in his shirt. (God, she really was ridiculous this morning.)

She paused in her room only to retrieve a clean pair of underwear and used the bathroom quickly before padding quietly downstairs into the kitchen, reaching for the coffee grounds and turning on the coffee machine. She spent the time while the coffee was percolating looking at some of the pictures on the fridge, smiling to herself at how Alexis-centric they were. It was such a homey, family display, one that reminded her of what the fridge in her home had looked like when she was growing up, with nothing in it to indicate anything about Castle's wealth or his fame or anything.

It didn't take long before the coffee was done and she doctored two cups, one for herself and one the way Castle liked it, and carefully carried them both upstairs, nudging the door of his room open with her foot.

She realized once she stepped inside his room, pushing his door closed again with her foot, that at least one part of her plan wasn't going to happen because Castle was already awake, sitting up in his bed. His eyes flew to her face the moment she entered, something like relief followed by joy flitting across his expression in quick succession.

"There you are. You were gone when I woke up," he said with a pout that would have done justice to a toddler, although the look in his eyes was much more grown-up.

"I made you coffee," was her inane response, flushing and feeling suddenly, absurdly self-conscious for a moment on facing him on this first morning-after.

"I see that."

He reached out to accept his coffee, their fingers brushing just as they had on the hundreds of coffee hand-offs over the last year when he had been the giver, and she moved around to perch on her side of the bed, placing her coffee on the nightstand so she could prop her pillow up and sit more comfortably, before she picked up her coffee again.

They sipped their coffees in silence for a couple minutes and it occurred to her that now that the initial moment of self-consciousness had passed, this felt surprisingly… normal, somehow. A new normal for them, she thought, one she liked.

"You're wearing my shirt," he blurted out after a moment.

"Observant, aren't you?" she quipped.

"It looks good on you."

She hid a smile. She liked Castle when he was so direct, not a hint of the suave playboy persona he could assume. And yes, she felt a silly thrill at his compliment.

"And here I thought you'd like it better if I didn't wear a shirt at all," she batted back.

He almost choked on his coffee and shot her a look, his eyes abruptly dark and heated. "Oh, I definitely would."

She pretended to think about it. "Mm, your shirt's comfy; I think I'll keep it on." For now, but she left that part unsaid.

He pretended to pout. "That doesn't seem quite fair since I'm not wearing a shirt." Or anything else for that matter.

"Haven't you ever heard that life isn't fair?"

He pulled a face of mock horror. "You can't come up with a less clichéd response than that? Beckett, I expected better from you."

"Not before I've finished my first coffee, you shouldn't," she quipped, waving her coffee cup at him.

He laughed at that. "Fair point."

They finished their coffees and after a moment, he leaned over to smudge a kiss to her temple. "I like this, sharing the first coffee of the morning with you."

She hid a smile in her cup, warmth blossoming in her chest. "Me too," she admitted. She hesitated but then decided because, after all, she had promised herself she would be more open with him, share more, hadn't she? "I imagined this a few times."

He waggled his brows at her, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "You imagined me naked in my bed? Because if we're exchanging fantasies, I'm more than happy to volunteer to fulfill any fantasies you might have."

She elbowed him lightly. "Shut up, Castle, not that kind of fantasy," she chided, although she had to admit she sounded more… affectionate than scolding. They could talk about other fantasies later. Which they would. "I meant that I imagined _this_, us drinking coffee together first thing in the morning." In bed. And out of it too, of course, but in bed. She flushed at the words because it really was the sort of admission she didn't often make, so personal, so revelatory.

"You did?" He understood the implications—of course he did—he was a writer and more than that, he was smart enough to see that the mental picture wasn't about lust but about feelings, that she'd imagined not some hot sex but a real relationship. "I did too."

She flushed again, with pleasure this time, although she supposed she shouldn't be surprised now. "Yeah?"

"Of course." He quirked a small smile at her and brushed his lips against her hair. "I hate to break it to you but I don't want you only for sex."

She had to laugh at this. "Good to know."

"When?"

She blinked at him. When what?

"I mean, when did you start imagining us actually together?"

"When did you?" she parried automatically. Okay, she was being evasive. Her instinct for reticence couldn't be overcome in an instant.

He made a small face at her that told her he knew it but he answered. "I always wanted you but to be honest, I don't really remember when it turned into more. It might have been when you first told me about your mom but…" he paused and shrugged and Kate was momentarily distracted by the movement of his broad shoulders, a lick of heat flickering through her at the way it drew her attention to his chest, his amazing arms. "I don't know if there was any one single moment that did it. I think I realized just how important you'd become when Clark Murray told me what he'd found about your mom's case and I hated thinking about how much it would hurt you." He reached out and grasped her hand.

He'd cared about her for so long now.

"I don't remember when it started for me either," she admitted after a moment. "I just know that by the time I stayed with you after my apartment exploded, I… liked staying with you." She'd liked him before then but maybe it had been her stay at the loft that had really brought home to her how much because it had been comfortable—too comfortable, really—to have breakfast with him and Alexis in the mornings and dinner with them in the evenings when she wasn't at work.

"You did?" He looked surprised and delighted. "But you left after just a week! You could have stayed longer! It wasn't like I would have kicked you out."

She made a small face at him. "I didn't want to mooch off you. And it was starting to feel too… real, too comfortable," she admitted. And how stupid did that sound, said out loud? That she had essentially fled the moment she'd found a halfway decent sublet, not because staying at his home was bad but because she'd liked it too much? Even the hint that being with Castle—living in his home—could be what she wanted had sent her into a tailspin of panic. "It was… like a fantasy, showing me what I really wanted—"

He cut her off with a kiss, his mouth suddenly hot and urgent against hers, his kiss demanding rather than requesting a response and he got it—oh god, did he get a response—her entire body going up in flames as she pressed herself closer to him, her mind going blank of everything but this need to get closer to him.

He lifted off her mouth almost as suddenly as he'd started the kiss, moving on to leave a string of hot kisses along her jaw, licking and sucking at her skin, following it up with little nips of his teeth. "You can't say things like that and expect me to keep it together," he panted against her ear.

"Who said I want you to keep it together?" she managed to husk.

A soft sound like a growl got swallowed by her mouth as he returned to kiss her again, his hands sliding under his shirt, and her last coherent thought was that one side benefit to wearing his shirt was that it was so loose on her, it gave him easy access to her skin. And then she forgot to think, her mind going blank as his hands found the curves of her waist, her breasts. And all she knew was him, the taste of him, the heat of his body, the depths of his passion.

* * *

Later—much later—Kate reluctantly accepted that she couldn't stay here in the Hamptons forever. She did have to be ready to go back to work from tomorrow.

She counted it a minor accomplishment that she and Castle had left his bedroom at all this morning but they had, eventually, when hunger had finally driven them out. They'd even gotten dressed—although Castle had suggested with a playful waggle of his eyebrows that he was fine with cooking wearing nothing but an apron so she could consider that too—and enjoyed a leisurely brunch of omelettes with toast and fresh fruit. Afterwards, they had gone for another walk on the beach but this time, she had started out holding his hand from the beginning.

For that matter, she wasn't sure if there had been any time at all this morning when they hadn't been touching in some way, at least other than the brief span of time when she'd been making their first coffees. But since then, they'd been inseparable.

Even when they'd been cutting up vegetables for the omelettes, they'd stayed close enough that their elbows brushed constantly and every once in a while, one or the other would teasingly jostle the other with a hip or an arm. It was… a little strange and surprising, this constant wish to touch him when she'd never been much of a touchy-feely person and for that matter, she wasn't sure if it would last or if it was just part and parcel of the euphoria that came from this new phase of their relationship, the giddiness from all the amazing sex—what, she could admit that. But whether it lasted or not, she couldn't deny it now and wasn't resisting the urge to touch him.

So she held his hand and didn't even release it when she bent the first time to pick up a few shells from the sand, making him yelp a little in surprise and then proceed to whine volubly about how she'd nearly yanked his arm out of its socket, with just enough exaggeration to assure her that he wasn't really hurt. Which had allowed her to laugh at him until he gave in and laughed too.

For all his pretended complaining, though, he uncomplainingly surrendered his pockets for the shells she picked up and then it, probably inevitably, turned into a sort-of competition between the two of them, each trying to spot a more interesting rock or shell on the beach, until their collection outgrew his pockets and they started using his shirt as a makeshift basket.

It was the sort of ridiculous activity she would never quite have imagined doing with a boyfriend but Castle made it seem natural and fun and so they kept it up, gathering what was really an absurd collection that they would probably end up throwing out half of anyway, but she supposed the fun was in the collecting itself.

Back at the house, he dumped the collection onto the patio table and they sat together, sorting through the shells for a 'keep' pile and a 'discard' pile, idly commenting on them. Well, okay, she was idly commenting on them whereas Castle, being Castle, tended to turn his comments into little vignettes of origin stories for each shell, what kind of creature or sea monster it had come from, how it had acquired the chips and scratches it had. (It occurred to her that Castle must have told Alexis some amazing bedtime stories when she'd been growing up and made a mental note to ask Alexis about it sometime.) She wasn't quite sure where the impulse came from—actually no, it was his fault, his influence—but she found herself joining in, at first just to mock his suggestions but then it evolved into countering his stories with her own. And she was only encouraged by the sheer delight in his face, felt a ridiculous feeling of accomplishment when one of her suggestions had him blinking and then acknowledging, "Ooh, that's a good one." Any more and she would have been preening.

Their theory-building had somehow turned into story-building, stories about hypothetical sea monsters, to boot. (God, what had this man done to her? But even as she thought the question, the answer came back to her. He had made her happy.)

From a cabinet inside, Castle retrieved a small bucket and dumped the shells they had put into the 'keep' pile and she blinked at him. "You were serious about keeping all of these?" Yes, they had termed it the 'keep' pile but she hadn't really expected he would. After all, they served no real purpose, just clutter, really, and sure, he certainly had the room in the house, but still…

"Of course. We chose them together, our first walk as a couple. Did you think I'd just toss them?"

Put like that… "Well, no, I guess not."

"Besides, in case you haven't noticed, the house has plenty of room."

She snorted at that. "Yeah, it's hard to miss that this place is practically a castle." It was a lame joke and even she knew it.

But he gave a crack of laughter. "Castle's castle? I like it."

She grinned, absurdly pleased at making him laugh. Castle was so good at making her laugh and she knew she wasn't the most fun person in the world; the more fun, spontaneous version of herself had died along with her mom when she'd been 19 and she had to wonder sometimes if she… was good enough, could make Castle happy in the long term.

But for right now, she pushed aside the niggle of doubts wanting to creep back into her mind, focusing on the bright, happy look in his eyes, letting it reassure her. Because he was happy now, today. That much was obvious. He was all but bouncing, his smiles almost constant.

As was hers, which was more surprising.

Back in the house, he set the bucket of shells aside, saying he'd find a place to keep it later and they settled in the kitchen for a snack since it was after 1 pm but neither of them was hungry enough for a full meal after the brunch they'd had. So Castle foraged in his fridge and they ended up munching on crackers with cheese and grapes.

Interspersed with kisses, of course, as had been the case all day.

It was when they had finished this snack that Kate reluctantly said, "I should probably get ready to head out."

Castle's expression fell so fast it might have been comical under other circumstances. "What? You have to leave?" he bleated so pitifully he could have been asking about a diagnosis of some terminal disease.

She gave him a sympathetic grimace and reached out with a hand to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, in one of those gestures which she had learned he liked. (Although to be fair, he appeared to like anything that involved her touching him. He was like a sponge, eagerly soaking up any and all affection she was willing to give. Luckily for him—both of them—she was discovering a newfound well of affectionate gestures inside her.) He relaxed into her touch. "My leave is up first thing tomorrow morning and somehow, I don't think you'd want this new phase in our partnership to start with me losing my job."

"Well, no," he admitted. "But I don't want you to go." He brightened up. "Ooh, I could pay for a helicopter to take you back to the city. That would save time so you wouldn't have to leave yet."

She gave him a look. "Cute, Castle, but no. Besides, that wouldn't work unless the helicopter could also take my car."

She should have expected that would distract Castle as his expression lit up the way it did when he got excited over one of his crazy theories. "There are helicopters that can lift cars! That would be so awesome. I've always wanted to ride one of those, like a Chinook helicopter!"

"Of course you have," she agreed indulgently, patting his head like the little boy he resembled at the moment. "But back in reality, I don't think you can just rent those things and even if you could, I wouldn't let you."

He pulled a pout. "Stop spoiling my fantasies with logic, Beckett."

"You ought to be used to that by now, Mr. Crazy Theory Man."

That made him laugh. "I am and somehow I like you anyway."

Oh damn, there went that flutter in her chest again. How did he do that? "Lucky me," she tried to drawl but it came out sounding more serious than that, the words hitting home. Because she did feel lucky, for the first time in years really. Lucky that somehow, after all this, with all her issues, her prickly defenses, this man had stuck around and somehow, seen her as more than the damaged cop she was, had been. And yes, he liked her anyway.

He sobered in the blink of an eye, leaning in to kiss her temple. "I'm the lucky one, Kate." He drew back and gave her one of his trademark smirks—and really, when had they stopped being irritating? "If you don't believe me, just look at my life. My dreams come true. Even the one about being with you. Except for the part where you need to leave today," he amended.

There he went again, being so sweet and then lightening the mood by making her laugh. "Very smooth, Castle," she returned, attempting to sound dry.

"It was pretty good, wasn't it?" he pretended to preen. "And I didn't even plan it. I impress even myself sometimes."

Ridiculous man. She pushed herself to her feet. "Since you're clearly quite happy to admire your own self and you don't need me to do that, I am going to go up and pack."

Unsurprisingly, she didn't make it even two steps before he caught up with her, snaring her hand in his. "I can help you pack, even if I don't want you to leave," he offered. "After all, I used to pack for Alexis all the time."

"That was when Alexis was a child. Which I am not."

"No, of course you're not, that would be gross," he hurriedly went on. "But I could still help you."

Somehow, she rather doubted that but she couldn't bring herself to make him leave and it wasn't as if she wanted to be away from him either. "You can watch me pack," she conceded. (She could not believe she was saying this. Oh god, she was doomed.) He perked up and she added, with an attempt at severity that fell sadly flat, "As long as you behave."

He nodded eagerly. "I'll behave. Scout's honor."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice try, Castle, but I'm not that forgetful. You were never a scout."

"I'll behave. I promise."

"Sure, you will," she drawled. She wouldn't bet money on his "behaving," at least not according to any standard other than his own.

But somewhat to her surprise, he did behave. He contented himself with sitting and watching her pack, most of the time with an overblown pout that was distracting but not otherwise attempting to get in her way.

"You know, Castle, staring is still creepy."

That admonition was about as effective as it had ever been, that is to say, not at all, as he only smirked at her. "You should be used to me staring by now."

"Just because I'm sort of used to it doesn't mean it's not creepy," she retorted.

But other than that, he didn't really try to disturb her. Mostly. Except once when she skirted too close to him and he "accidentally" stuck his leg out in just the right way to ensure she would stumble onto his lap and another time when (again) she had to pass by him and he caught her wrist and tugged her close to him, claiming she needed to pay a toll, in the form of a kiss, before he could let her pass.

The man was ridiculous. It was too bad that he was so damn adorable and at the moment, she couldn't seem to feel annoyed, even if she wanted to.

She didn't have much to pack and so she was packed and ready to leave sooner than she wanted to be and far, far sooner than Castle wanted her to be, as he made clear as he accompanied her outside to her car. He pouted as he deposited her bag into her car and his pout only dissolved (temporarily, she had no doubt) when she turned and slipped her arms around his waist, momentarily pressing her face into his neck. She lifted her face for his kiss and kiss her he did, with enough enthusiasm to leave her breathless and somewhat dazed when the kiss ended.

He allowed himself a very faint smirk at that but it faded. "Call me when you get home?" he asked plaintively.

"Of course," she agreed, mustering a smile. "Stop looking so tragic, Castle, I'm not going far and you'll be coming back to the city soon enough."

He nodded rapidly and emphatically. "As soon as I'm done with the edits."

"There, see? You can stop pouting."

He forced a ridiculously fake-looking smile—although she knew him too well to think he was really trying—and she rolled her eyes for his benefit. "Good enough. I'll see you soon, Castle."

With that, she patted his chest, resisted the urge to kiss him again, and stepped back from his embrace.

"Drive safely."

"Yes, Dad," she mocked as she slid into her car, more to tease him out of his moping.

It worked as he made a face at her. "I'm not your dad, Beckett, don't be gross."

"Yeah, yeah. Bye, Castle."

"See you soon, Beckett."

With that, she finally managed to leave, starting the trip back to the city and her last glimpse of Castle was of him standing right where she'd left him in front of his house, one hand raised in a wave, clearly unwilling to go back inside before she was completely out of sight. She smiled a little to herself, warmth blossoming in her chest. Her Castle. She had no doubt he'd hurry to finish up his edits and then he'd be back in the city and they could start forging their new relationship for real, partners in the precinct and out of it too.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: This story is starting to wind down, as you can probably tell, but it's not quite over yet. As always, thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially the guest reviewers whom I can't thank directly.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: In which Lanie gets her say. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 16_

Kate couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed that she got a call from Dispatch for a new case first thing the next morning so she didn't even have time to stop off at the precinct. Instead, she only made a quick stop at a coffee shop to pick up a coffee—and tried not to wonder how many days it would be before Castle would be back and providing her with coffees and smiles (and kisses, couldn't forget kisses).

Of course, another person having been murdered was never a good thing but since that part was out of her hands, she thought she was more relieved than not. She didn't enjoy doing paperwork at the best of times and on a day when she was already afraid she'd be hopelessly distracted thinking about Castle, working a case which would inevitably focus her attention was probably better. Also, having an active case would mean she didn't have as much time to think about missing Castle.

She found Lanie squatting by the body, a middle-aged man who looked like he'd been stabbed. She nodded a greeting to her friend. "Lanie. What have we got?"

Lanie gave her a brief scrutinizing glance, her eyes narrowing, and Kate wondered what her friend had observed, but Lanie didn't comment. "Beckett, welcome back. Vic's a white male, in his 50's, stabbed and then dragged behind the dumpster to hide the body. No sign of a real struggle and we'll need to wait to get him back to the lab to get a more exact time of death and a tox screen, see if that tells us more."

Kate nodded, observing the body as dispassionately as she could manage, her eyes finding a monogram on the cuffs of his shirt that read either GRC or CRC, the first letter too smudged by what could be mud or blood to be clear. It wasn't as if she'd needed any reason to think of Castle but seeing his initials echoed in the victim's momentarily snared her thoughts before she shook it off. Absurd. "He's well-dressed," she commented aloud. "Any ID?"

"No wallet so it could be a mugging but I did find this," Lanie responded, pulling out an ID badge. "For Mt. Sinai St. Luke's uptown. He's a doctor, Gregory Cambeson."

"A doctor ending up mugged in an alley downtown," Kate muttered, more to herself than to Lanie. "Let me know when you have more info."

Lanie nodded briskly, returning her attention to the body, while Kate swung around to meet the boys, who'd been talking to the uniforms and the people who Kate guessed had discovered the body.

Later, after Kate had visited the hospital where the vic had worked, she got a text from Lanie and headed over to the morgue.

Lanie greeted her with another narrow-eyed look of scrutiny, a faint smirk tugging on her lips, and it gave Kate a moment's warning before Lanie started with, "We need to talk, Beckett. I think you've been holding out on me."

Kate blinked. "What?"

"You had sex," Lanie announced with all her trademark subtlety and discretion.

Kate choked on air, cursing the blush she felt creeping into her cheeks. "What makes you say that?"

"I can tell. Your eyes are bright and you look… loose, like you've had a release of tension."

"That's it?"

Lanie narrowed her eyes at Kate. "Well, no, there's also the fact that you have a hickey on your neck."

Kate automatically clapped a betraying hand to her neck and then could have kicked herself when Lanie smirked. Damn it. She had noticed the hickey that morning and had chosen to wear a collared shirt to hide it because she didn't have a suitable scarf. Her collection of scarves had been incinerated when her apartment had exploded and it hadn't been a priority to replace them. She made a mental note to acquire some scarves. She should have realized a collar wouldn't be enough to hide the hickey completely from Lanie's eagle eye.

Lanie smirked and then sobered. "Kate Beckett, did you find a guy to have sex with up at your dad's cabin?"

Kate gaped, involuntarily grimacing at the mere idea of sleeping with a random guy, sleeping with anyone except for Castle. "What? No! And I wasn't at the cabin."

Lanie raised her eyebrows. "You weren't at the cabin? Then where did you go this weekend? You almost never take actual days off and when you do, you always go to the cabin."

Kate bit her lip. Right, she'd known she would need to tell Lanie about her and Castle some time and apparently that time was now. "I was in the Hamptons. With Castle."

Lanie's eyes went wide. "You had sex with Castle?" Predictably, that was where Lanie went with her admission.

Kate flushed in spite of herself and knew that was answer enough. Sure enough, Lanie almost punched the air in glee. "It's about damn time!" Her expression collapsed into a frown. "But wait. Last I heard, he'd walked off into the sunset with his ex-wife and you were swearing you'd get over him. How did that turn into you sleeping with Castle?"

"He broke up with Gina weeks ago," Kate answered quickly.

"That wasn't what I meant," Lanie retorted dryly. "I know you too well to think you'd have slept with him if he hadn't. But how did all this happen? How did you even know he'd broken up with her and how did that lead to you spending the long weekend with him? Come on, Beckett, spill."

It occurred to Kate that she hadn't really told anyone about her phone calls with Castle. First because there hadn't been anything to say, they had just been talking, but then even when the calls were lasting longer, when they were talking every day, she hadn't mentioned it. Mostly because she wasn't in the habit of talking about her personal life at all but she also hadn't known what to say either. It had just been phone calls, really, nothing out of the ordinary—except that it was out of the ordinary for her. And even now, even with Lanie, she found she wanted to keep her new relationship with Castle to herself, clutch it close the way a miser would hold onto treasure. Wanted to preserve the little bubble where it was just her and Castle.

Which was irrational and silly, she reminded herself. They weren't children and it wasn't as if Alexis didn't already know. And she'd already planned to tell her dad the next time they met up.

"He called me a couple weeks ago, just to say hi, and we… started talking," she explained briefly.

Lanie huffed out an exasperated breath. "And? Come on, Beckett, you know I'm going to pry it out of you anyway so you might as well tell me the whole story. How did talking on the phone turn into you spending the weekend with him?"

"He invited me. Or technically, Alexis invited me."

That made Lanie blink. "I thought Alexis was spending the summer at Princeton."

"She is but she spent the long weekend in the Hamptons and she asked Castle to invite me to join them because she wanted to talk about colleges," Kate explained, more comfortable talking about Alexis.

"Smart girl, thinking about colleges already," Lanie commented.

"Yeah, she really is," Kate agreed, smiling.

"So you and Alexis are buddies now too? That's convenient, since you're now sleeping with her dad."

Kate tossed a half-hearted glare at Lanie. "Shut up, that's not why—I would be nice to Alexis no matter how I felt about Castle."

Lanie smirked. "I know that but your reaction does tell me a lot about how you do feel about Castle."

"Lanie…" Kate groaned. "Did you have something about the case to tell me or did you just call me here to interrogate me about my personal life?"

Lanie waved a dismissive hand. "The tox screen results aren't back yet but they should only be a couple minutes so I have time to finish interrogating you first and then we can talk about the case."

"You sneak," Kate accused but without any real heat. It wasn't exactly unprecedented for Lanie to squeeze in time to corner Kate about her personal life because, she was honest enough to admit, otherwise she very well might evade any personal conversation whatsoever.

"So…" Lanie drew the word out interrogatively, raising her brows.

"So, what?" Kate had a very good idea what Lanie was getting at but she wasn't about to help her friend along.

"So you had sex with Castle and…?"

Entirely unbidden, memories, images of the night with Castle flashed through her mind—the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd touched her, the way he'd felt inside her—and she clamped her lips shut, trying not to flush or squirm or otherwise betray herself in any way. What had happened between her and Castle was private, personal, and she had no intention of sharing any of it, even with her best friend.

"So how was it?" Lanie prodded after a long minute.

"Lanie…"

"Don't 'Lanie' me. Come on, Beckett, I've been watching the sparks fly between you and Castle for the last year and I read that part of _Heat Wave_ that certainly lived up to the title so you've gotta give me something."

"It's personal."

"Do you see anyone else here?" Lanie waved a hand towards the vic, concealed beneath the sheet. "And he's certainly not listening, so spill. I want details, girl."

Details, ha, never. "It was good," Kate answered as uninformatively as she could.

"Kate…" It was Lanie's turn to whine. "Just good? Come on, with Castle's reputation and the sexual tension between you too, that's all you have to say?" She paused and then added, "Unless you mean it was a letdown and Castle really isn't as good in the sack as his reputation suggests?"

"What, _no_," Kate blurted out before she could think about it. That was so far from the truth she couldn't even imagine…

Lanie gave a sly grin and Kate realized her friend had been baiting her. And she had fallen for it, like any rookie. Damn it. "Aha, so he is good."

Kate narrowed her eyes. "Lanie."

"Ka-ate," Lanie mimicked, stretching her name out into almost two syllables. "So how good is he?"

She always seemed to forget that Lanie's middle name could be persistence. Kate mentally threw her arms up in the air in surrender. "It was amazing," she bit out. "Happy now?"

Lanie gave a cackle of glee. "Amazing, huh? He really must be good."

"And we are never talking about this again," Kate stated flatly.

"As someone who's had a front-row seat to watching you and Castle dance around your attraction for more than a year now, I think I should get more details than that."

"Too bad because I'm done talking about this."

Lanie pasted on an exaggerated pout. "You are a mean friend, Kate Beckett, not to share any juicy details for those of us who don't have a celebrity in our beds." She sobered. "Wait, just tell me one more thing."

"Lanie…"

"I just want to make sure this wasn't just some vacation fling and you aren't doing something stupid to cut off your nose to spite your face."

Kate gave her friend a look. "Your faith in me is astounding," she drawled.

Lanie didn't even attempt to look sorry. "I know you, Beckett, that's all."

Okay, so Lanie might have a point but that didn't mean Kate had to admit it. "It wasn't just a fling. Castle and I talked and we're… trying for this," she managed, not smoothly. And now, she couldn't help the blush scorching her cheeks, ridiculously. She hadn't blushed when talking about sex with Castle but she did when talking about their relationship—how irrational was that. Or maybe not so much because sex was something she was more accustomed to and she was no stranger to how little sex could mean, but a real relationship was not, was something she didn't have much experience in. And this relationship with Castle meant more, already, than any other relationship she'd had. Terrifyingly so.

Thankfully, Lanie didn't comment on Kate's clumsy confession, only studied her for a moment, a faint smirk playing around her lips. "Well, good. And now, you can relax, Beckett, interrogation's over." With that, she'd switched to giving an update on the case, which had allowed Kate to switch back into Detective mode, shrugging off her discomfiture.

The update didn't take long and Kate was soon on her way, texting the boys with the salient facts and that she was on her way back to the precinct, only to pause, a ridiculous ribbon of pleasure wiggling through her when she saw that she'd received another text, from Castle this time.

_Do you miss me yet? _

Silly man. An irrepressible smile curved her lips as she sent him a quick response—_maybe, maybe not—_picturing his answering pout.

When she had called him yesterday when she'd returned to her apartment, he had whined about missing her already, making her laugh and tease because it had, after all, been only a couple hours since she'd left the Hamptons. He had spent some time trying to wheedle her into admitting that she missed him already too, which she'd steadfastly refused to do, mostly to tease him and partly because she thought it was utterly absurd to miss him when it had only been a few hours. It was stupid, really it was, she had never been the clingy sort and she had no intention of starting now—and yet… She might not admit to missing him but, well, her apartment had felt oddly… empty, not as comfortable, too quiet. Which was ridiculous because it wasn't as if Castle had even been in her new apartment yet so she absolutely should not feel as if something was missing. It was irrational and crazy… and true. Damn it.

Kate sternly managed to shove all non-casework-related thoughts out of her mind for the rest of her day, helped by the near-constant influx of more information about the victim that they kept finding out, the pieces coming together to help form a picture of the vic and his life. As usual, she really did enjoy her job, the challenge of it, and if the process wasn't quite as entertaining without a certain person—she wasn't going to dwell on it. Her job wasn't meant to be entertaining anyway.

But for all her bravado, she felt a ridiculous surge of happiness swamp her the moment she heard his voice at the other end of the phone line. "Beckett, your telepathy is almost scary. I was just about to call you myself."

She allowed herself to smile at his silliness. "How many times do I have to tell you that there's no such thing as telepathy, Castle?"

"You can't prove it doesn't exist. You can't prove a negative."

"Must you be so ridiculous?"

"Must you be so rational?" he parroted back at her.

"I'm a cop, Castle; it comes with the job description."

He heaved a fake sigh. "Yeah, and you seem to enjoy spoiling my fun too. I don't know why I like you so much."

The half-teasing sentiment really should not make her heart flutter. "Yeah, well, you're a little crazy."

"Only a little?" Since when was a smirk audible?

"Fine, a lot crazy."

"Crazy about you, that's for sure."

She rolled her eyes, sternly instructing her silly heart not to react. "So cheesy, Castle. I expected better from a bestselling author."

"Even I can't be brilliant all the time."

"That's quite the concession from you, oh vain one," she needled.

"Beckett," he whined, dragging her name out into more syllables than it actually was. "Did you call me just to be mean to me?"

"No, but now that you mention it, it sounds like fun."

"I'll hang up," he pretended to threaten.

"Truce! I'll be nice," she promised, laughing.

"Good," he huffed.

She could just picture his adorable pout and smiled to herself, realizing belatedly that her hand had come up to wind a strand of hair around her finger. Oh, she really had it bad, twirling her hair while talking to her boyfriend—oh god, Castle was her boyfriend, ridiculous as that sounded—on the phone. "I told Lanie about us," she told him, changing the subject. "Or rather, she guessed and I admitted it."

"How did she guess? Lanie hasn't even seen me in more than a month!"

"Yeah, well, _somebody_ left a hickey on my neck that I couldn't completely hide and after that, Lanie pried the truth out of me."

"Sorry," he said, sounding smug rather than sorry.

"Liar."

"Okay, you got me. I'm not sorry. But what did Lanie say?" he quickly switched gears.

"She said it was about time," she answered since she was not going to go into the rest of Lanie's interrogation.

Castle gave a hoot of laughter. "That sounds like her."

Kate huffed a little in belated amusement. "Yeah. And it occurred to me that we never really talked about telling other people about, um, this." She hesitated, inwardly writhing. Ugh, she hated this sort of thing, talking about personal things. It occurred to her that one downside of these phone calls with Castle was that it did mean they needed to talk. It made it harder to evade or get distracted by kissing or touching.

"Okay," he said slowly and she heard the faint frown in his voice. "But I thought we did talk and you said you were fine telling Alexis."

"I am. I'm fine with telling your family and I'll tell my dad when I see him this weekend but I meant, at work."

"Oh." He hesitated and she wondered why, what was causing this uncharacteristic reticence in Castle, who'd spent the last year worming his way into her personal life. "You mean, you want to keep this a secret at the precinct?"

It was her turn to hesitate, his question abruptly reminding her of something she'd forgotten about—or more accurately, had tried to block from her mind. The bet—that stupid pool going around about when she and Castle would sleep together. Oh god. She hadn't even thought—but now, she did and she could just picture it, the jokes, the smirks, the gossip. All the worst aspects about her job, about being a female cop.

And Castle was a celebrity too. Shit. Another thing she hadn't really taken into account, had tried not to think about. It had been weirdly easier in the Hamptons, easier because, like Castle had mentioned, in the Hamptons, he wasn't the only big name and his wealth was nothing special, and she'd been away from the fish bowl of the precinct too. It had been easier to focus only on him, on them, in their little cocoon of privacy.

Now, she was back in the real world, her real life, where she had to deal with gossip and rumors, magnified by Castle's fame. Oh, shit.

"I don't—I hadn't thought about it," she finally managed, not smoothly, as she tried not to sound like she wanted to cringe.

"We don't have to tell people, if you don't want to," he conceded after an awkward pause. "As long as we can be together outside of the precinct, that's enough for me."

Oh. Oh, damn. Kate bit her lip. Was that—there was just a faint trace of something in his voice, something that wasn't quite hurt but it indicated that he wasn't happy about it either. And what he'd said too, that being with her outside of the precinct would be enough, as if he was somehow settling.

No. She couldn't ask that of him, didn't want to do that. All her instincts might be in favor of privacy, that was her way, but she wasn't unaware of the implications of asking for a secret relationship. She dealt with secrets every day and secrecy generally implied something embarrassing or suspicious or illicit. None of which applied here and she would never want anyone, especially Castle, to think otherwise.

"No," she blurted out before she'd realized she was going to.

No, she cared about Castle more than that. Cared about him and his feelings more than her own wish to keep her personal life private. (She wasn't sure she'd ever felt that way before, this acknowledgment that someone else, their happiness, their well-being, was so important to her. But now…) It was a little surprising but she realized she could—and would—compromise on her own wish for privacy for his sake.

"No, I don't want to keep it a secret," she managed to say. The gossip, the intrusive questions, would be annoying but then again, she was used to shutting down or otherwise ignoring rumors and gossip about her in the precinct.

"You don't?"

Something inside her twisted a little because he sounded surprised, although she supposed he had some reason to be. As he of all people knew, she wasn't exactly given to openness about her personal life. But she swallowed back the ridiculous lump forming in her throat, trying to sound light. "I work with detectives, Castle, how successful do you think we'd be at keeping it a secret? I know just how subtle you are." (Not.)

"You don't think I can be subtle?" he huffed in mock offense. "It'd be like stealth dating! Or ninja dating. Because that would be so cool!"

She hid a smile. Trust Castle to put it like that. "Yeah, well, you can save your stealthy ninja skills, or lack thereof, for something else," she advised him dryly.

"Ooh, does that mean I can tell the boys you're my girlfriend now?"

"Don't push it, Castle," she shot back but couldn't help her smile, the lift of her heart.

"I'm not! I'm being reasonable! If I weren't, I'd suggest that we take an ad out in the Ledger announcing the news."

She snorted in spite of herself. "Why would you need to? The Ledger already took care of that months ago. Because I seem to remember a line about us being 'romantically involved.'"

"'Rumored to be romantically involved,'" he corrected, "and that's different."

"How is it different?"

"They were only rumors and everyone knows you can't always trust rumors," he informed her airily.

"You only say that because you're used to having rumors about you speculated on in the press."

"Well, yes, I do have a certain amount of experience with that," he agreed, more smugly than not.

"It's not a compliment. And secret or no, we're going to have to keep it professional in the precinct because NYPD regulations prohibit partners from being romantically involved."

"Would that really apply since I'm not actually a cop?"

"Oh, now you remember that you're not really a cop?" she mocked. "It's a loophole and I think it's what Captain Montgomery will rely on but I'm not so sure the higher-ups at One PP will agree so we should still be careful."

"Are you sure about that because I have this fantasy involving you and the interrogation room and—"

"Castle!" she cut him off sharply, glad that he couldn't see her flush. "That is _never_ going to happen."

"Are you absolutely sure about that because that's what you said about being with me at first too and now look what's happened."

"Castle!" she tried to smother her laugh. "That is not the same thing." The man was ridiculous. And outrageous. And why didn't she find it annoying?

"Oh wait," he broke in, his tone shifting, becoming serious. "There's one more thing and no joke this time but if we're talking about telling people, we should talk about the press because they will find out eventually."

All amusement died at the reminder, her other concern when it came to privacy. "Oh, right," she said flatly.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Kate. I wish I could promise it won't happen but I can't. All I can do is try to contain it but there's only so much I can do. I know you're not going to like it but I can't prevent it entirely."

It was her turn to sigh and then bite her lip. "I know, Castle, I don't blame you for it."

"But...?"

She let out a breath, aware of her visceral reaction at the mere idea of having her private life splashed over the gossip pages. The reaction after the "rumors" in the Ledger's blurb about Castle had been muted but any public confirmation of Castle's relationship with her wouldn't be so easily quieted. She'd followed enough of Castle's publicity, the gossip about his love life, over the years to know that.

If anyone had told her months ago that she would ever accept her personal life becoming the subject of tabloid gossip, she would never have believed it.

"I'm going to hate it," she admitted.

"Kate…"

She closed her eyes for a moment, pictured his face, the way he looked at her sometimes. "But I understand that publicity is part of your life, part of your job, and…" she paused, trying to formulate the right words, "if I'm going to be part of your life, then I accept some publicity as part of the bargain."

"God, I wish I could kiss you right now."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly. Oh god, yes, she wanted that too.

There was a moment of silence in which she could almost swear their mutual longing practically vibrated over the phone line (oh god, had she actually thought that?).

But then it was over as she heard him release a somewhat uneven breath and then he went on, in an attempt at his usual tone, "So did you get a new case today?"

She accepted the change of topic with some relief. Better to return to their usual theorizing about case work—she might still miss him—but there was no need to make it harder by dwelling on it either. So she told him about the case, about Dr. Cambeson, whose personal life showed no red flags, happily married to all appearances and with two teenage kids, and whose professional life they were starting to look into.

And as usual, he chimed in with theories, ranging from the victim being a spy (of course), to being a blackmailer, to being in with the mob. Also as usual, she laughingly batted his theories back and it was almost as if nothing had changed between them at all. They were still friends, still partners.

It was all very much as their earlier calls had been until the end, when they both reluctantly acknowledged that they should get off the phone as it was late and she needed to be up at her usual early hour to get to work and his phone was about to run out of battery.

"Have a good night, Beckett."

"Night, Castle."

"Hey, Kate?"

It was ridiculous how her heart seemed to stutter just at his use of her first name. "Yeah?"

"I miss you."

And there went her heart again. Her throat felt tight, stupidly. She really wasn't good at this, saying these things. "I miss—my personal coffee delivery boy."

She tried to make it sound teasing but it came out sounding like what it actually was, a lame cop-out.

But he gave a soft huff of generous laughter anyway. "I'll see if I can have a word with him, make him hurry back to his barista duties."

"That would be nice. Night, Castle."

"Til tomorrow, Beckett."

She smiled as she ended the call at this reminder that Castle could not just say 'night,' even as she felt absurdly dispirited at the knowledge that she would be going to sleep in her solitary bed. She might not be able to say it in so many words but she did miss him. A lot.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Just one chapter and an epilogue to go. Thank you all for reading and reviewing!


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Posting early to try to finish this story before the holidays. Enjoy!

**What the Heart Wants**

_Chapter 17_

Kate was tired. Tired physically and worse, she was disheartened.

They had solved the case so she had been able to visit Dr. Cambeson's wife and give her the answer to why her husband had been murdered but as so often happened, it seemed as if learning the answer made things worse. Because in death, a victim's secrets came out and secrets, especially when they were the ones that led to death, were like time bombs that exploded and left devastation in their wake. Dr. Cambeson had been recruited by some high-end drug dealers, the ones who dealt in pills, to provide unnecessary (and illegal) prescriptions, both the actual pills themselves from his office supply and by writing scripts to take to pharmacies. But then he had been notified that he'd been flagged to undergo a random audit by a medical board looking into, among other things, his pill supply, and tried to get out of his side of the bargain with the dealers which had not gone well, to say the least.

Justice had been done, Dr. Cambeson's killers caught, but now his wife and his kids were left with not just their grief but also the knowledge that her husband, their father, had not been the man they thought they knew either. That he'd violated his oath as a doctor, committed crimes, and been contributing to the drug abuse problem plaguing the country.

For one of the few times in Kate's career, she'd been tempted not to tell the whole truth—to lie. She could have told Mrs. Cambeson some story about being in the wrong place, wrong time, a drug deal gone bad that had ended in the death of the innocent bystander. It was a scenario she had seen before and it would have left his secrets undiscovered, his memory untarnished with his wife and kids.

Facing Mrs. Cambeson's weary face, seeing how ravaged her expression was from the past two days of grief, Kate had wavered for a moment, hesitated. But in the end, she had told Mrs. Cambeson the whole truth. She had done what she'd been trained to do, what she had to do. One thing Captain Montgomery had told her early on had been that a homicide detective who started flinching from unpleasant truths would ultimately become a bad cop. It would start small, even well-intentioned as in this kind of circumstance, but concealing the truth once would make it easier to do so again, would make a cop become susceptible to viewing the evidence in the light in which they wanted to view it.

It was something her mom had told her too, that the truth was always best.

Which was one thing in principle but felt like another thing entirely when faced with an innocent family member's devastated expression. The expression _she_ had caused. The betrayal even in the midst of loss and grief, the loss not just of the family member but of the image they had held of their family member.

_It's hard when everything you think you know turns out to be a lie, _Kate remembered saying after the case last fall of the drug mule, John Allen, when his wife had found out what her husband had done after losing his job.

_Not everything, not her husband's love, _Castle had pointed out. In John Allen's case, it had been true, might even have been true in this case too but the circumstances weren't the same. John Allen had been desperate to find some way to support his family and the mafia had preyed on his desperation. It was not a pretty story but John Allen had ultimately been a guilt-less victim. No matter what the motives behind his greed had been, Dr. Cambeson had still had a good job but had chosen to break the law, was not guilt-less.

Now, haunted by Mrs. Cambeson's expression—especially because from their brief interaction a couple days ago when Kate had told her about her husband's death, her impression of Mrs. Cambeson had been positive—Kate was starting to wonder, insidious whispers of doubt creeping into her mind.

She sighed as she trudged up the stairs to her apartment, thinking with some longing of having a glass of wine, or maybe even scotch, with her dinner, followed by a long soak in her tub. Yes, that was what she wanted, to get home where she could finally relax and take a warm bath and just slough off this terrible day.

And maybe, she thought with a spark of mischief momentarily lightening her mood, she would call Castle while she was still in her bath, tease him a little. That could be fun.

Well, no, it might be fun for a little while but it also reminded her that what she really wanted—but could not have—was to spend the evening with Castle. She wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted to be able to relax against his broad chest, be comforted and cosseted by his warmth and his strength and his humor.

Part of the reason she was so tired was because she hadn't slept well the last few nights, not since coming back from the Hamptons, and she couldn't convince even herself that the timing was a coincidence, that it didn't have something—everything—to do with the fact that her bed seemed too… empty, too cold, without him in it. Which was crazy since after all, she'd never actually had him in her bed yet but no matter how she tried to tell herself that, it didn't make it untrue. It was so stupid, made her feel ridiculously like a child who couldn't sleep without her favorite teddy bear or something, but there it was. Ugh, damn it. She was an independent adult, a cop, for heaven's sake. She should not be reduced to tossing and turning after sharing a bed for only one night with a man.

She had reached the floor of her apartment and stepped out into the hallway, only to tense, her hand automatically starting to reach for her gun when a large shadow at the other end of the hall detached itself from the wall, starting toward her.

Being accosted in the hall outside of her apartment was the last thing she needed—wait. Was it possible—there was something about that shadow, that form. She recognized that shape, that figure. And then it spoke and confirmed her guess. "Hey, Beckett. Surprise."

Shock blanked her mind as for a split second, she wondered if her missing him had somehow managed to conjure him up—wow, she really must be exhausted to be thinking like that. But then she decided she didn't care about the how, only the who—Castle—and the where—here, with her. Everything else could wait.

"Castle," she gasped, her suddenly energized legs propelling her forward as he strode towards her and then she was locked in his arms, held, surrounded. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his so-familiar scent, and felt some of the tension of the day dissolve.

Castle was back and her day was abruptly much better.

She felt him press a kiss to her hair. "Hey, Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"As much as I love hugging you, do you want to stay out here or are you going to let me into your apartment? Because I have a feeling that once I start kissing you, I'm not going to be able to stop and that should probably wait until we're in a less public setting."

She gave a huff of laughter, even as a surge of desire flared through her at the mention of kissing, and reluctantly released him, stepping back.

Her brain kicked back into gear and her questions returned. "How did you find out my address?" she blurted out, inanely. When she had moved, she hadn't told him her new address because at the time, she'd still been annoyed at him over the Ellie Monroe thing.

"I texted Lanie."

"You couldn't have just asked me rather than almost giving me a heart attack?"

His lips quirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

He would say that. She snorted as she unlocked her door and waved him inside, noting belatedly that he had a small suitcase with him so he must have come straight here from the Hamptons and not even stopped off at the loft first.

Once inside her apartment, she noted his gaze sweeping over the space in one comprehensive glance as she locked the door behind them and distractedly dropped her purse on the ground and set her gun aside. She normally put it away in a drawer across the room but she didn't want to bother with that now. Because once he had taken a second to survey her apartment, he turned back to her and she wasn't sure which of them made the first move or maybe they moved at the same time as she surged into him, her hands cupping his face while his arms wrapped around her waist.

And they kissed, open-mouthed and eager. She wondered fuzzily how she had survived even three days without this because this, right now, his lips on hers, their tongues tangling, felt as necessary as oxygen. His little groan of pure relief was swallowed by her mouth before he briefly left her mouth to trail his lips along her chin to her neck, licking and sucking and nipping as he went. She gasped and arched into him, lifting one leg to keep him close. And abruptly changed her mind. She'd thought she wanted his comfort first but no, sex first, definitely sex first. Or maybe, she thought vaguely, the sex was the comfort.

"Kate," he gasped against her cheek. "Bedroom?"

His mouth was now back on hers and she wasn't about to stop kissing him so instead she tugged him with her, blindly stumbling back in the direction of her bedroom. They bumped into an end table and her elbow glanced painfully off a wall as they made their way but thankfully, reached her bedroom without further incident, his hands busily undoing the buttons of her shirt.

She wasn't quite sure how but her shirt and bra were already off as she fell backwards onto her bed and just barely managed to shove the covers out of the way before he was joining her, almost falling on top of her. And then it dissolved into a blur of skin against skin, of caressing hands and eager mouths and bodies fitting together as if they'd been meant to be like this.

Afterwards, Kate tucked herself against his side, her lax body molding itself to his as if it might be possible to melt into him, her head nestling in the hollow of his shoulder. Her eyes drifted closed, lulled yet further by the steady rhythm of his breaths, the beat of his heart beneath her hand. Mm, this was what she'd missed and wanted.

After a little while, he released a puff of breath that might have been the beginnings of a laugh.

"Mm, what is it?" she mumbled.

"Just thinking, I didn't mean for this to happen."

She managed to lift her head so she could look at him. "What?"

He made a rueful face and gestured with one hand to indicate her disheveled bed, the clothes haphazardly discarded on the floor. "I wasn't planning to do this—I mean, not immediately. I thought we'd talk first, maybe eat, you know, do things in the usual order."

She couldn't help her smile. He really was adorable, his hair a mess (from her fingers), his expression reminiscent of a sheepish little boy. "Do you hear me complaining?"

"Well, no." His expression rearranged itself into a smirk. "I guess you just can't resist me, can you?"

"I think it's you who can't resist me."

He lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. "Guilty as charged."

He might have a point; she couldn't resist him. She leaned down to kiss him, softly, slowly, this time.

Only for the kiss to break off abruptly as her stomach rumbled and she flushed as he laughed, only to choke it off as she pretended to sock his shoulder.

"Ow, okay, I guess we're eating now."

She shot him a narrow-eyed look—or at least, she tried to but she suspected her expression ended up looking more indulgent than offended, as she rolled away from him and sat up.

He lingered in her bed, not even making a pretense of not watching as she stood up and moved to her closet to retrieve a short, silky robe that ended mid-thigh and put it on. It wasn't until she was mostly covered again that he heaved an exaggerated sigh and then got up in turn and it was her turn to watch as he tugged on his boxers and t-shirt.

He caught up to her as she left her bedroom, sliding his arm around her waist.

They settled easily on Chinese food and ordered, even as they bickered amicably over who would pay for the food.

"Wine?" she offered after a moment.

"Sure."

He retrieved two wine glasses and they settled on her couch with their wine. He slipped one arm around her shoulders and she settled against him, feeling his fingers playing idly with her hair.

A comfortable silence settled over them and she felt herself relax, the last vestiges of tension from the day melting away.

"Oh, did you finish your edits?" she asked after a while.

He made a small face. "No, not exactly. I'm more than half done with them but I decided to come back early because I was missing you too much. And honestly, I can work on the edits anywhere." He slanted a smirk at her. "Of course, if you insist, I could leave again, not come back until I'm done like I planned."

"I'll think about it," she pretended to consider it and didn't even try to hide her smirk when he pasted on an exaggerated pout.

He retaliated, or something, by kissing her smirk which, predictably, led to more kisses and they pleasurably occupied themselves with some gentle making-out that was only interrupted by the knock on the door that heralded the arrival of their food.

At which point he won their mock-argument over who would pay by default when he pointed out that he was the one more appropriately dressed to answer the door rather than her in her skimpy robe.

They busied themselves with the food, only exchanging occasional comments. He basely stole one of her egg rolls and she swatted his hand to no effect but then got him back by helping herself to some of his mu shu pork. He pulled a face which she returned with a quirk of her eyebrows that dared him to make an issue out of it and overall, it was just… fun. Teasing and playful as they had been before but with an added ease to their interactions and she thought that this was what she'd wanted, what she'd imagined a relationship with him could be like—relaxing with him after a long day of work.

After they were done eating and the leftovers were cleared away, they resettled on the couch, Castle sprawling at his ease and tugging her against him so she was leaning against his chest.

"Mm, that hit the spot," he mumbled. After a moment, he added with more alertness, "Hey, you have to work this weekend, right?"

"Yeah, because I took last weekend off. And since we closed our case today, it'll probably be mostly paperwork."

"Oh, you guys closed your last case, the one with the doctor? I was going to ask you about that."

So she told him about the case, about Dr. Cambeson's ultimate weakness and greed, the bad judgment that had led to his death.

Castle sighed a little. "That had to be hard on his wife, finding out that her husband wasn't the man she thought he was."

She sighed in turn, her mood sinking at the reminder. "Yeah, it wasn't easy, telling her." She hesitated and before she'd fully realized she was going to, found herself admitting, "I almost didn't. I thought about not telling her, making it sound like some wrong place, wrong time thing."

As the words fell from her lips, it occurred to her that this—admitting this kind of thing, her own doubt, the burden of her job—was something she wasn't sure she'd ever talked about before. Not really, not with anyone. She tried not to talk about the harder aspects of her job with her dad because she didn't want to worry him, still a little cautious about relying on him. It wasn't the sort of thing she could really talk over with Lanie. The boys weren't generally given to this kind of introspection, or at least Espo definitely wasn't and while Kate was aware that Ryan was more thoughtful than that, she wouldn't have felt comfortable talking about this sort of thing with either of them because she was technically their superior, the team leader. Showing vulnerability to her team wasn't something she was comfortable with.

And with Will—they had shared the law enforcement background so she and Will had often swapped stories from work but she hadn't talked to Will about this kind of thing either because she wouldn't have wanted to appear weak. She had hated the tinge of pity, that entered his tone, his demeanor, when the subject of her mom came up, the way he had so often tiptoed around potentially sensitive topics. When it came to her professional abilities, he respected her, acknowledged that she was good at her job, but whenever he was reminded of her past, her mom, his view of her had been colored with thinking of her as another victim, just like the ones they both dealt with at work.

Castle was different, as she had already realized. He didn't view her as a victim. He had seen her crying over Dick Coonan's dead body and he still saw her as extraordinary.

"But you did tell her the truth," he responded quietly.

"Yeah." She shut her eyes briefly. "It just seemed so… cruel, to disillusion her, just a couple days after I told her her husband was dead."

"You were just the messenger, Beckett, not the one to blame. You couldn't have done anything else. That's not you, not the kind of cop you are." He paused and then added in something approaching his usual tone, "Like Superman, you stand for truth, justice, and the American way."

She gave a somewhat watery laugh at that. Trust him to make such a reference and yeah, he definitely didn't see her as a victim. "I'm not a super hero, Castle."

"Maybe not," he conceded, although he sounded as if he rather doubted that. "But anyway, telling Mrs. Cambeson some lie about it being a wrong time, wrong place sort of crime wouldn't have been much better, would only make the tragedy worse, because there would have been no rhyme or reason to it. And as someone very wise once told me, having the answers, knowing why, matters and it will help, in time."

The echo of what she'd once said to him made her smile a little, warmth blossoming in her chest. "Someone very wise, huh?"

She heard his smile in his voice even though, leaning against his chest as she was, she couldn't see his face. "Yeah, she's the smartest person I've ever met."

Damn, he was going to make her melt. "I don't know, Castle, you might be biased."

"Yes, but as I always say to Alexis, I might be biased but that doesn't make it untrue."

Ridiculous, sweet man.

There was a brief silence after that, which he broke. "When you finish your shift tomorrow, come over to the loft. My mother's still away and Alexis is at Princeton so we'll have it to ourselves. I can make you dinner," he proposed.

She turned her head to brush an apologetic kiss to his chin. "I wish I could but I can't. I'm having dinner with my dad tomorrow."

"Oh, okay. Well, you can come over after dinner."

She hid a smile, her heart lifting in that way he could somehow always do. "Just for dessert?" she asked in faux innocence.

"That too," he said, sliding one hand around her hip.

"Why, Mr. Castle, are you suggesting I stay the night at your place?" she teased.

"Why, yes, Detective Beckett, I believe I am," he matched her tone.

"Scandalous."

He laughed, nuzzling a kiss to the nape of her neck, making a shiver of pleasure go through her. "I could persuade you…"

She wiggled a little as the husky tones of his voice sank into her skin, feathered along her nerves, and straightened up as if it could somehow weaken his effect on her.

"I have another idea," she suggested, biting her lip a little at the impulse but not finding any qualms at the idea. "Why don't you join me and my dad for dinner?"

It was his turn to straighten up, all thought of teasing and seduction apparently forgotten. "Kate, are you serious?"

She shifted, turning on the couch so she could face him. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't. My dad's already told me he wants to meet you."

He had and that was even before knowing that she and Castle were together. It might be—was—fast; she hadn't introduced Will to her dad until they'd been together for more than four months. But again, as with everything else, Castle was different.

His eyes went wide. "He does? Why? Because you told him about us?"

Was he nervous about meeting her dad? That was adorable. And entirely unnecessary. "I haven't told him about us, not like that, but he wants to meet you as my friend and my partner." And because he'd heard so much about Castle from her but that part, she didn't quite feel up to admitting.

"Oh. And you want me to be there when you tell your dad about us?" He made a face of almost comical apprehension.

He really was adorable. She reached out and took his hand. "It'll be fine, Castle. Unless you don't want to meet my dad yet. I know it's a big step."

"No!" he blurted out hastily. "Of course I want to meet your dad. I just… you surprised me, that's all, but I do want to meet your dad." He paused and smirked, apparently having regained some of his usual insouciance. "I bet he can tell me all sorts of stories about your childhood."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tempt me to rescind the invitation. And remember, I'll be there so I can make sure my dad doesn't talk too much."

He pouted. "Let him tell me just a couple stories, please?"

She was not, absolutely was not, going to give in to his pleading blue eyes. "No, you don't need that kind of encouragement."

"But it's necessary character research into Nikki's background," he cajoled.

"If anything my dad tells you ends up in one of your books, I'm never letting you into my bed again," she pretended to threaten. She knew he wouldn't, trusted him.

"You're so mean, Beckett."

She leaned in to kiss the pout from his lips. "How about I try to make it up to you?" she husked against his cheek, punctuating the question with a delicate nip of his earlobe.

His breath hitched and he choked on a laugh, his hands already tugging her closer to him so she settled in his lap. "I could be persuaded…"

She trailed a string of light kisses along his chin and down his neck, pausing at random points to lick and suck and then lightly grazed his Adam's apple with her teeth as he swallowed. "How am I doing so far?"

"Huh?"

She hid a smirk in his neck. Good. If he was coherent, she would be doing something wrong. "Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"You wanna stay out here or go back to bed?"

That got his attention. "Bed," he answered definitively and suited action to the words by sliding his hands under her thighs and lifting her. She felt a thrill wriggle through her at this evidence of his strength as he carried her back into her bedroom and she proceeded to use her hands and lips and tongue until he was groaning her name helplessly.

Some time later, they drifted to sleep, still tangled together, and Kate's last thought before she succumbed was that tonight, she would sleep well. Castle was back and that was all she needed.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Just the epilogue to go. Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers!


	18. Epilogue

Author's Note: This epilogue ended up being more angsty than originally planned but it does end happily, which I hope makes up for it. Takes place during "3XK."

**What the Heart Wants**

_Epilogue_

Kate couldn't breathe. An iron fist seemed to have reached into her chest and grasped her lungs, her heart, so she couldn't draw in a breath.

She was gripping the steering wheel of her car so tightly her hands hurt but she didn't care, welcomed the discomfort if anything, because she deserved it. She deserved every bit of pain and worry she was feeling right now and she thought she might never forgive herself.

What had she been thinking, doing? She'd been hiding, holding back from the last surrender of her heart. Even if she had admitted to herself that she was in love with Castle, she hadn't told him that. She'd kept it to herself, maybe not deliberately, but she had. She'd been trying and she was getting better at being open about this kind of thing with Castle, talking to him more, but she hadn't been able to tell him in so many words that she loved him. It had seemed too… big an admission, exposed so much vulnerability.

Why hadn't she told him? Had she thought that not admitting it out loud would somehow protect her, make Castle mean less to her? Keep her from being quite so committed to this relationship?

It was so stupid, so useless, and now, she was paying for her stupidity as if for a crime. Because now, she was faced with the terrible dread that Castle was in danger, hurt, and he didn't know that she loved him. And she might have lost the chance to tell him.

Oh god, no! She couldn't lose him, she _couldn't_. Not now, not ever.

Kate savagely blinked back the tears that would keep trying to well up in her eyes, blinding her, and vowed to herself, to whatever higher powers there might be, that if Castle was okay, if she saw Castle again, she would tell him that she loved him and then she would spend the rest of her life making sure he knew, without any doubt, that she loved him just as much as he loved her.

Because he did love her. She knew it but then, he had told her he loved her. He wasn't as much of a coward as she was.

She choked back another sob at the thought, the memory.

His voice had sounded strange, stilted, when he had answered his phone earlier, sending her heart plummeting even lower into the pit of her stomach. He had said he was fine but he'd said it as if he were reading from a script and by now, she knew his tone, could almost always read his mood from his voice.

And then he'd said it. "Katherine, I can't talk right now but I love you, okay?"

Stupidly, her first thought had been that he never called her Katherine. He'd called her Katie a couple times to tease her, after he'd heard her dad call her Katie, and she had retaliated by calling him Ricky in a simpering tone that made him grimace. But he never called her Katherine.

Her second thought had been that it was the first time he'd said the words to her outside the privacy of a bedroom and for once, she'd thought frantically that she didn't want to hear it, didn't want him to say it. Not now, not when they were tainted with burgeoning panic, not when she couldn't see him. He hadn't said the words often, only a few precious times, and the first time, she wasn't even sure she'd been meant to hear it because he'd mumbled, "Love you," when they were both drifting to sleep. He'd said the words again, and then again, when they were both more alert and awake and both times, she'd only been able to respond with a kiss, hoping that her kiss would make up for the words she couldn't quite say.

She'd choked. "Rick…"

She'd been close, so close, in her newfound terror, the words, I love you too, had been on the edge of her lips but then before she'd managed to squeeze them past the lump in her throat, he had cut her off, saying he needed to go and would see her later.

And she'd known, with bone-deep certainty, that something was very wrong. In all the hundreds of phone calls she and Castle had exchanged over the last few months, even before they'd gotten together, he had never, ever cut her off like that. Unless he absolutely had to, he never cut her off. And he was almost never the one to suggest they end their conversation either, was usually the one to linger on the line until she teased him and they mutually agreed to hang up on the count of three.

If he was cutting their call short, something had to be wrong. It wasn't evidence anyone else would accept—she wouldn't accept it in any other situation—but she knew Castle.

She couldn't decide if she was a little relieved that he had cut her off before she could say the words to him. She didn't want the first time she said the words to be so tainted with panic but then again, if anything happened to him, if that call had been the last time she talked to him, she would never ever forgive herself knowing that he hadn't known, she hadn't told him when she should have.

Oh god, she should have told him every day, every minute of every day, that she loved him. She, of all people, knew that nobody's tomorrows were guaranteed.

But she hadn't and now Castle might— She cut off the thought before the terrible word could even form.

It wasn't a long way—thank god—to get to the motel where Jerry Tyson had been staying but every second seemed to drag, even as she simultaneously, irrationally felt that time was racing, speeding up in time with her frantically rabbiting heart. A ticking clock that seemed to speed up as it neared the end of the countdown…

No, no, it wasn't the end, could not be the end. She couldn't believe it. Couldn't let herself believe it.

She had no clear memory of driving, thought it a minor miracle afterwards that she hadn't gotten into an accident with her complete disregard for her own safety and every traffic rule under the sun. She hadn't had any corner of her mind left to think about such mundane details as traffic rules, had only switched on her siren and sped.

As it was, she was later surprised to find that she even remembered to turn off the ignition to her car before she flung herself out of the car and sprinted towards the motel, the room that had been assigned to Tyson.

Her heart was pounding so loudly it made her deaf to anything else and she almost skidded to a halt, almost running past the door in her haste, and kicking it open. She knew Espo was on her heels but she couldn't wait.

"Castle!"

"Beckett! Room's clear; he's gone. I'm fine."

The beam of her flashlight found him, squinting in the glare, but alive—blessedly, wonderfully alive. The rush of relief made her dizzy and she staggered across the room on legs that suddenly felt wobbly beneath her, falling on her knees in front of him.

She was only peripherally aware of hearing Ryan groan and start to stir on the floor and some corner of her mind processed relief that Ryan was alive too but she wasn't fully conscious of it. Her conscious mind was focused only on Castle.

Her hands skimmed over his thighs, his stomach, his side, his chest, needing more than just a visual reassurance that he was alive, unhurt, needing the physical touch. A choked sob escaped her as she completed her survey and then she belatedly realized she should untie him. Her fingers were trembling and uncoordinated so she fumbled but finally, eventually, the knots gave way and then Castle's arms were wrapping around her, tugging her up against his chest.

He was chanting her name, murmuring it against her hair, as if he'd never thought he would be able to say it again. Her name mixed in with other things, that he was all right, that he was here, that they were fine, a litany of reassuring nothings that still meant everything.

She buried her face in his shoulder, shutting her eyes against the sting of tears, and drew in what felt like the first full breath in hours, even days. She breathed in his scent, one she knew so well after these last few months, the scent that lingered in his sheets and on his clothes, some combination of his body wash, his after shave, his laundry detergent, and underlying it all, the scent that belonged solely to him. The scent of home—and it slowly unlocked her muscles.

She had no idea how much time passed before she managed to bring herself to release him, drawing back enough to meet his eyes, loving the sight of them, so bright and blue and filled with life and light and, yes, love.

"Beckett, Tyson did it. He's 3XK. Gates was just a copycat," Castle told her with belated urgency.

She nodded. "I know; I figured that out when you and Ryan didn't come back and then Martha called and then when we talked, you sounded weird on the phone."

He managed a faint, tired quirk of his lips. "Weirder than usual, you mean." It was the sort of joke he would normally make but for once, it fell flat and instead of a laugh, she choked on the beginnings of another sob instead.

"Castle—"

He reached up and swiped a gentle thumb over her cheek, wiping away the tear that must have escaped. "Ssh, I'm sorry, Kate. I shouldn't have tried to joke about it, I know."

"Castle, glad to see you're okay, man. Hey, Beckett."

Esposito's voice startled Kate into a belated awareness of his presence—and Ryan's, she realized with a spurt of guilt—and at any other time, she might have felt some embarrassment at how completely she'd been focused on Castle, how much she'd revealed about her own feelings in front of the boys, but at the moment, she didn't have the emotional bandwidth left to care about that. She only turned to look at Espo, even as one of her hands closed around Castle's, not wanting to lose any form of contact with him. Espo was standing now and supporting Ryan, who was slouched into him, looking dizzy but otherwise okay. "Yeah? Ryan, you okay?"

"Ryan needs an ambulance," Castle inserted.

"No, I don't," Ryan groaned.

Espo spoke over Ryan, ignoring his partner for once. "SWAT team's here and a bus is on its way. You good to help Castle out of here?"

"I don't need help," Castle protested but subsided as Kate pushed herself to her feet, half-surprised to find that her legs were no longer shaky beneath her, and tugged him to his, immediately sliding her arm around his waist, wordlessly encouraging him to put his arm around her shoulder, which he did.

It wasn't the first time Kate had realized that this position, with his arm over her shoulders, wasn't the most comfortable one for them when she was wearing her heels. They were too closely matched in height when she was in her heels so with his arm around her shoulders, she couldn't stand up straight, needed to slouch uncomfortably. But she didn't care. She wasn't about to let him go and even the marginal distance between their bodies if she only held his hand seemed like too much at the moment.

She felt Castle brush a kiss to hair and in response, nestled closer to him, as they trailed after Espo and Ryan out of the hotel room. Ryan stumbled a little, seeming to sway, and if it hadn't been for Espo's quick reflexes, might have fallen but Espo caught him and then supported him as they made their way out of the room and down the stairs to the parking lot.

With Ryan as apparently concussed as he was, their progress was slow and halting and for once, Kate didn't feel even a flicker of impatience, was content enough to linger behind. She took advantage of one of Ryan's pauses to steady himself to brush her lips against Castle's chin, the only spot she could easily reach. His hand briefly squeezed her arm a little tighter at that and she resettled her grip on him too.

By the time their slow procession had reached the parking lot, the SWAT team was dispersed, cops swarming over every inch of the motel, in a belated search, and the ambulance had arrived. EMT's quickly took over, getting Ryan onto a stretcher, disregarding his feeble protests that he could walk, and ushering Castle to the ambulance to check him over too.

With Castle safely in the hands of the EMT's, Kate belatedly remembered that she should call Martha and let her know that Castle had been found, was safe, and slipped away to make the call, allaying Martha's frantic questions. Kate's heart pinched a little. She hadn't needed this to tell her that the barbs that flew between Castle and Martha were a mask to hide the real depth of their relationship but it was a stark reminder. She assured Martha again and again that Castle was fine, unhurt, mentioning his protest on even being checked by the EMT's as proof, and promised she and Castle would be home soon.

With Martha somewhat restored to calm, Kate ended the call and on impulse, crossed the motel lobby to the coffee machine in the corner. It would be cheap motel-quality coffee, of course, but it would be hot and, well, it was coffee.

That done, she returned to the parking lot, to the ambulance where Ryan still was, with Espo and now, Captain Montgomery, hovering just outside.

She caught up to them to hear the tail end of Ryan's brief update to Montgomery. "—who guessed. Then Tyson got the drop on me, knocked me out with my own gun." He made a face of scorn, directed at himself. "Like some rookie. And Tyson got away because I wasn't fast enough."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up, bro," Espo spoke up.

"He's right," Montgomery chimed in. "Tyson fooled everyone, including me, all those years ago, so it's not on you." He sighed, abruptly looking tired and older than his years, before he straightened up, all business again. "You can give your official statement tomorrow at the precinct, Detective. In the meantime, you're going to the hospital, make sure you don't have anything more than a mild concussion."

"But sir—" Ryan started to protest.

Montgomery ignored him, turning to Esposito. "Esposito, you make sure he goes to the hospital and then make sure he gets home, if they release him."

Espo nodded. "Yes, sir."

Now Montgomery turned to Kate. "Beckett, I told Castle he can give his official statement tomorrow too. Go home and take the morning off, both of you. I'll see you in the precinct in the afternoon."

For once, Kate didn't protest the order to take time off, only nodded, and then felt a quick spike of worry as she registered that Castle had left, was no longer standing a few steps off. It was irrational, she knew that, since with the motel still crawling with cops, it was probably the safest place in the city right now, but she still panicked when she didn't immediately see him. "Where'd Castle go?"

She was aware of the betraying quiver of fear in her voice but couldn't help it. Anyway, it wasn't as if Montgomery and the boys weren't perfectly aware of her relationship with Castle.

They glanced around and it was Espo who spotted him, pointing out his familiar shadowed form, sitting on a bench by the pool on the other side of the parking lot. The one place that was removed from the bustle of law enforcement. "There. Guess he needed some space."

Kate tried to flash Espo a smile of thanks but couldn't force her facial muscles to cooperate before she turned and headed towards Castle without another word.

As she neared, she registered his stance, the way he was hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, as he stared at the pale blue light flickering from the surface of the pool. That hand was back, seemed to be squeezing her heart again, at the sight. Because that wasn't right, wasn't like Castle. Her Castle, the man she knew and loved, was happy, an incurable optimist, not this bleak figure who looked over-burdened, bearing the weight of the world.

"Hey" she greeted him quietly as she joined him on the bench. "I brought you coffee."

For the first time in her memory, the offer of coffee didn't elicit a smile, or even an answering spark in his eyes, as he accepted the cup. All he did, although it was enough to reassure her that her company wasn't unwelcome, was grasp her hand with his free one, gripping it firmly.

He didn't speak, the silence not very like him, although by now, Kate knew that Castle occasionally had his brooding moments when he needed to be prodded into sharing. They had turned out to be somewhat more alike in their reticence than she had expected, although he was naturally more open than she was, even with her efforts.

After a moment, she ventured, "I called Martha, told her you were all right. And Alexis is asleep; Martha didn't tell her anything."

He released a breath. "Thanks." The word was quiet, just above a breath.

There was another silence, this one lasting long enough to make Kate feel uncertain, concerned. No, this wasn't like Castle. Now that her overpowering relief at finding him alive and unharmed had subsided into a sort of tired calm, other more nebulous fears were creeping in.

Of what, she wasn't even sure. But finally, she asked, partly because she wanted to know and partly just to nudge him into saying something, "Why did he let you live?" She bit her lip the moment she asked it, realizing it sounded wrong, put like that, but she wasn't sure how else to phrase it either.

He sighed heavily and slumped yet more, leaning into her. "To punish me." He paused, swallowing, before going on, not quite steadily, "Make me pay for ruining his plan. Now he's going to kill again, all because I couldn't stop him. Because I failed…"

He sounded so… despondent, so guilty, and that iron fist was back, crushing her lungs, her heart, in a vise.

_This was because of her._ The thought flared through her mind, seemed to be seared onto her brain like a brand.

She had always wondered, feared, that she couldn't—wouldn't—in the long run be good for Castle, make him happy. How could she, with all her issues, her life that revolved around death and darkness, actually be good for him, who was so good at making people happy, brightening people's lives?

And now she knew. She couldn't. That was her burden.

She might know that his interest in murder and the macabre was not new, had predated his meeting her by years, but this personal burden of guilt, the sort that ate away at a person's spirit, this was new for him. It was part of the burden of being a cop, what every cop accepted with the badge, but Castle was not a cop, had not accepted the burden. He was here because of her and now, because of her, he would be haunted.

She flinched sharply at the thought, the words hitting her like a blow, and released his hand. She couldn't draw in a breath, the very air she inhaled felt jagged and sharp against her throat and lungs.

"Kate? What is it?"

She choked down the sob building in her throat. "I'm sorry." The words came out like a croak and she had to swallow, hard, before she could go on. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

He was going to make her say it. (Of course he was. Castle was too kind, too generous, to acknowledge that she might not be good for him.) "Tyson got to you because of me. I'm the one who brought you into this, the reason you were involved with this case."

He jerked upright, staring at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "That's insane."

Well, if she'd wanted to prod him out of his torpor, she'd succeeded. "No, it's not. Before we met, you didn't work with police, didn't get involved with criminals. The burden you feel now is because of me."

"No, it isn't. Contrary to popular belief, I am an adult," he clipped out, sounding acerbic rather than humorous as he normally would. "I'm responsible for my own choices and I was the one who chose to follow you." He paused, sighed, his brief flare of irritation seeming to leave him. "You haven't done anything to be sorry for. All you've done, all you do, is make me happy."

Her breath stuttered in her chest. How did he know what to say, what she needed to hear? "I do?" She wanted to believe it, wanted to make him happy, but some part of her doubted if she could. She wasn't like Castle, wasn't very fun or spontaneous anymore, wasn't as effortlessly cheerful as he was.

His expression softened as he reached out and grasped her hand again. "Oh, Kate, you little idiot." Somehow, his tone, his look, transformed the epithet into an endearment of sorts. "How can you not know how happy you make me? Aside from Alexis, no one has ever made me as happy as you do."

"Really?"

He huffed a little but for the first time since she'd found him, managed a wan little smile. "I think I know how I'm feeling."

He was deliberately misinterpreting her question. A strange sound escaped her that was some combination of a sob and the beginnings of a laugh. "Castle."

He released her hand only to cup her cheek, leaning in to touch his forehead to hers. "Remember how I told you on our first date that my life is better with you in it? I meant it and these past few months have just proven it over and over again. There is no way in which my life is not infinitely better because of you, okay?"

Oh damn, he really was going to make her cry, his words easing doubts, fears, she hadn't fully realized how much they'd been lurking inside her. She sniffed and nodded. "Okay."

"Good. Now, no more crazy talk. I'm supposed to be the irrational one in this relationship, remember?"

She choked on a watery laugh. Oh this man, always managing to make her laugh. "Right."

His hand started to leave her cheek but she lifted her hand to hold it in place, keeping him from moving. "Hey, Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." The words were said in a whisper. It might have seemed a little odd to admit it just after she'd been doubting her effect on his life but now that she was reassured, she couldn't hold the words back any longer. She was in love with him, irrevocably, and now he knew it.

His breath hitched. "Kate…"

"I do. I really love you," she repeated.

He stopped any further protestations with the touch of his lips, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. "I know you do," he murmured against her mouth. "I love you too."

Now, she managed a shaky smile. "Okay, good."

He kissed her again with more urgency this time only for the kiss to be abruptly broken off at a sharply-truncated blast of a siren, making them both jump and come to the belated awareness that they were still in a public place, in full view of any number of cops.

They exchanged rueful half-smiles. "We should go home," she suggested. "Your mother will be worrying."

He tugged her in to drop a quick kiss on her temple. "That's another thing I love about you, Beckett, how much you care about my family."

She linked her arm with his as they turned to leave the pool area, keeping herself tucked close to his side. "Your family's wonderful."

He tossed out the coffee which he hadn't drunk much of in the trash as they left the pool area. "You're coming home with me?" he asked, almost as if it were any other night since she didn't spend all her nights at the loft.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," she answered candidly, before she could even think about it.

She'd left her keys in the ignition, she belatedly realized, something she'd never done before. Thankfully, there hadn't been much risk to it because her car had been almost immediately surrounded by other police cars but still, it was evidence of just how distracted she'd been. Evidence which Castle noted, she saw, his expression softening as he flicked a glance at her.

The drive to the loft passed in silence, their hands still joined since Kate didn't want to relinquish the physical connection to him.

As she'd expected, Martha was waiting for them when they entered the loft, immediately flying towards Castle and enveloping him in an embrace of brightly-colored silk. And Kate was somewhat surprised when Martha turned from Castle to her, embracing her in turn and fussing and fretting over Kate in equal measure, as if Kate too had been in danger tonight. Martha kept an arm around each of them as she shepherded them to sit on the couch and peppered them with anxious questions.

Castle gave his mother a highly truncated and sanitized version of the story, telling her very briefly that he'd gotten into a tight spot but he was fine, everything was okay, and there was nothing to worry about.

Martha didn't look entirely convinced but agreed to go to bed at Kate's urging and repeated assurance that they were both fine. She retreated upstairs but not until after she had hugged both Castle and Kate again and kissed their cheeks.

Kate felt warmth bloom in her chest, encompassing her heart. She really was part of this family now, wasn't she?

Castle drew Kate into his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm going to go check on Alexis," he murmured against her ear. "Wait for me?"

She nodded, unsurprised, since she knew that Castle still checked on Alexis every night if he wasn't home before she went to bed. Normally, Kate preceded him into their bedroom and started her own nightly ablutions but today, she accompanied him to the foot of the staircase (ridiculously) and then dallied there for the couple minutes it took for Castle to check on Alexis.

On any other day, she knew he would have made some teasing comment about it but then again, on any other day, she wouldn't have done such a thing. Tonight, he didn't tease, only slipped his arm around her as they headed into their bedroom—yes, their bedroom. Not officially, not yet, but it was theirs, their little haven of privacy.

Once inside, she turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the curve of his neck.

Castle wrapped his arms around her in turn, one hand rubbing her back in slow, soothing motions. She sank into his embrace and thought, not for the first time, that here, in Castle's arms, was the place where she felt safest.

"I was so scared," she admitted in a mumble against his shirt. "I thought I'd lost you and… I hadn't told you that I love you."

He slid one hand up to cup the back of her head, exerting just enough pressure so she lifted her face to meet his eyes. His eyes, which were so amazingly soft and filled with a tender light that she only ever saw when he was looking at her or at Alexis. "Did you think I didn't know? As much as it means to me to hear the words, I already knew."

She gulped, swallowing back something between a gasp and a sob. "You did?"

He cupped her cheek with his hand, a faint smile tugging on his lips. "I know you, remember? You _show_ me you love me every day, Kate. It's in your smile, your eyes. It's in the way you talk to me." His tone shifted just a little. "It's in the way you touch me."

She flushed. "It is?" she managed, rather feebly. Not because she disagreed or even doubted him but so much for having a poker face. Although, she thought, that it was only to him that she was easily read because with him, she didn't really try to hide her emotions behind her detective mask. She might not always be good at talking openly about her feelings yet but she no longer tried to hide how she felt either.

"You knew I loved you before I told you, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but I'm a detective. And you're not that subtle."

"I'm a writer; I observe people. And I've practically made a profession out of observing you."

"Creepy," she flipped back. By now, the term had become something of a private endearment between them, a private joke.

"Only with you."

She already knew that but it was still nice to hear. He was hers, just as she was his. "Good."

She rose up to kiss him; they didn't need to talk anymore.

The passion that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface flared up and they gave themselves up to it, their clothes falling away as if by magic. Certainly she had no clear idea of how it happened, her mind entirely taken up with the workings of his mouth and his hands.

By now, she knew every inch of his body, knew exactly how to touch him, how to make him groan and lose control. It was a knowledge she gloried in and used now, communicating with every kiss and caress of her lips and tongue and hands and body that she loved him.

And he did the same, their hands roaming each other's bodies, pleasure the only intent—giving it, receiving it, sharing it. And it was all shared.

Their gazes met and held as their bodies moved together, their breaths mingling in a kiss, and they reached the pinnacle together too as he groaned and she cried out, a cry half-swallowed by his mouth.

She collapsed on top of him, boneless and overwhelmed. This was what really making love felt like. This was the truth of them, what she wanted for the rest of her life.

His arms were draped heavily across her back, holding her in place against him, not that she had any thought of moving anytime soon. She could feel his heart beating against her chest and couldn't distinguish between the rhythm of her heartbeat or his.

She wasn't quite sure how long they lay like that but eventually, they did rearrange themselves more comfortably, until she was lying nestled against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder and his arm around her.

"Will you be okay?" she murmured quietly.

"Hmm?" he sounded sleepy and she felt a little niggle of guilt. She hadn't realized he was falling asleep.

"Will you be okay, dealing with the guilt?" she explained. She still hated the idea that Castle would feel the burden of responsibility, of guilt, the way she and other cops did.

He was silent for a moment, really thinking about it and not giving her an automatic response. He sighed a little and she felt him brush his lips against her forehead. "I think so. I've got you so I think I'll be fine. You help."

Oh, she hoped so. She wanted to believe that she could somehow make things better for him the same way he did for her. And promised herself she would do whatever she could to make it so.

She turned her head to brush her lips against his chest, settling her arm around him a little more firmly. "I love you," she breathed.

"I love you too, Kate, always."

Warmth settled in her chest and she drifted into sleep with the word, the promise, lingering in her mind. Together, always.

_~The End~_

A/N 2: Thank you, everyone, who's read, reviewed, followed, or added this story to their favorites. It is all much appreciated. I wish you all very happy holidays!

Until next year and the next story!


End file.
